


Negative Space

by JhanaMay



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been just over nineteen months since Steve found the Winter Soldier and brought Bucky home. Nothing about finding his way back to himself has come easy for Bucky, but Steve has been there every step of the way. He tries to focus on helping his friend by ignoring his desire to return to the intimate relationship they used to have, but it proves to be more than even Captain America can manage. Unfortunately, the specter of HYDRA’s experiments continues to haunt them, making it harder for Bucky to move on than they were expecting. Luckily, there’s a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist living in the penthouse who is willing to lend a helping hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited for my first story in the Marvel Universe! This story is dedicated to Christine, who thought it was appropriate to say while watching the elevator scene in the Winter Soldier, "Hey, what if Steve and Bucky tried to use those cuffs for some kinky fun and Bucky's arm got stuck to the cuff?" 40k words later, this might be a little more than she was expecting!
> 
> Special thanks to the amazing artist that illustrated my story, [Kana Go](http://smilingwsoldier.tumblr.com/). Please click through to her blog and leave some love! 
> 
> Also, thanks to my beta, Cat, who put up with my last minute muse and wrangled all those errant commas.

The balcony light is on, a pale glow that does nothing to block out the sparkle of New York beyond it. Bucky isn’t visible through the thick glass doors, but Steve knows that doesn’t necessarily mean he isn’t still out there. There’s enough of the Soldier left in him that he’s practically invisible when he doesn’t want to be seen. More likely, though, he’s already on the roof. In the months after he came back, he quickly discovered that when he didn’t want to risk running into any of the other occupants of the tower, he could scale the outside of the building to find solitude.

If he was really worried, Steve could always ask JARVIS. Tony’s AI has taken them all under his metaphorical wing and would be more than happy to assure Steve of Bucky’s safety. He doesn’t ask, though. It’s not as if this is the first time this has happened and if Bucky were a danger, JARVIS would mention it without Steve asking. After all, the AI has had to do it enough during the almost nineteen months that Bucky has been wrestling the Winter Soldier into submission, and Steve is sure that the protocols are still in place. He tells himself that is reassurance enough.

Steve shifts uncomfortably on the couch and presses the bag of frozen peas to his jaw. The super soldier serum will ensure that there won’t even be a bruise by tomorrow, but it still aches with a dull thrum of pain. At least Bucky hadn’t hit him with his metal hand. Although the flesh and blood one still packs a hell of a wallop, it barely compares to the power his cybernetic arm can unleash. Despite the way his face throbs, his ribs are in worse shape. There is probably still an impression of Bucky’s boot on his side.

Releasing a shaky sigh, Steve pushes himself up, ignoring the sharp pain that tells him his ribs are closer to being cracked than he’d like and heads into the kitchen to toss the peas back into the freezer. It’s a good thing no one in the tower actually likes peas because that bag has been thawed and refrozen for a remarkable number of injuries.

Pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge, he glances around the kitchen. The plates from dinner are still resting in the dish strainer where Steve had left them and the glasses are lined up along the edge with the silverware. What had started out so promising had gone sideways very quickly.

_“Leave them for later,” Bucky murmured playfully, arms sliding around Steve’s waist from behind. Steve tensed, shocked by the advance after so long with no indication of how Bucky had felt about their first kiss since he’d been back. He slid his hands down to lightly skim the top edge of Steve’s jeans before turning to run them up under his  t-shirt, fingers playing softly over the ridges of muscle in his stomach. His abs tensed then relaxed as Bucky slid his hands back to grip Steve’s hips, fingers restless against his skin. The difference between his flesh-and-blood hand and the metal one was barely noticeable._

_Steve huffed a soft breath and leaned back against the solid warmth of Bucky’s chest, letting his head loll back onto the other man’s shoulder. Bucky’s hands on his waist tightened almost imperceptibly when Steve turned to brush his lips across the stubble covering Bucky’s jaw. The feel of his friend behind him, holding on like he’d done so many times before, was overwhelming._

Steve shakes his head to clear the memories and calmly puts the dishes away, ignoring the bubbling urge to throw one of the heavy leaded goblets across the room. It’s not fair. He has tried to do everything right, to not push Bucky’s recovery to serve his own needs. He’s been careful, more careful than he thought he had the patience for, everything considered. The past year and a half has been simultaneously the best and worst year of his life.

Bucky is here and alive and that is a miracle Steve will never stop being thankful for, but having him so close and simultaneously so far away has been its own kind of torture. At first, of course, Bucky had barely been holding himself together. There were what seemed like never-ending months of terror, riddled with flashbacks that sent Bucky into hours of silence as he crouched in the corner of his bedroom folded in on himself. Those days were only marginally better than the restless nights that ended with a knife to Steve’s throat, Bucky’s cold, blank eyes staring down at him.

Gradually, though, the horrors of his captivity faded, leaving Bucky only slightly more stable, but just as quiet and withdrawn. In some ways, those months were almost harder for Steve than when Bucky was a danger to himself and everyone around him. The glimpses of the man he used to know, a man who was clearly in pain, were hard to bear. No matter how much Steve wanted to comfort him, though, Bucky just wouldn’t let him get close. He was like a ghost haunting the tower.

Time heals, as they say. Eventually, Bucky has become, if not more like his old self, at least less like a cornered wild animal. He is smiling more and has stopped shying away from contact with the rest of the team. Although there are still shadows behind his eyes, the dry sarcastic sense of humor that had always been an integral part of Bucky’s charm has started to peek through. The first time Bucky smirked and tossed a sly innuendo at Clint over breakfast, Steve beamed like a proud father on his son’s first day of school.

Steve is, of course, happy that Bucky is finding himself again. Having his best friend back is a gift Steve never expected or dared to dream of, especially in the long, lonely months after he was thawed out. It should be enough that he gets to eat dinner with Bucky every night and that he gets to lounge around watching documentaries and old cartoons with him on lazy afternoons. It’s more than he could have wished for when he catches the soft sound of Bucky whistling in another room or witnesses his friend’s joy at finding another new band to add to his iPod. Having Bucky back is all that matters.

At least, that’s what Steve tells himself.

Every day, more and more glimpses of the way Bucky used to be show through. Maybe not the carefree, effortlessly charming Bucky of Brooklyn, but definitely shades of the more introspective, darker Bucky of the war. After Azzano, Bucky didn’t smile quite so easily and his charm was a little forced, but he was still undeniably the guy Steve grew up with.

Every time that little smile tugs at the corner of Bucky’s lips, every time he laughs and winks at some silly joke, Steve has to shove down the urge to grab his friend and kiss him. Missing the way things were is a constant, excruciating, ache in his chest. Even though he tries to stoically will himself not to, he craves the easy touches they used to share, hands and mouths on every part of each other’s bodies and Bucky above him in the dark of their tent or the watery light of their tiny tenement.

The thing is, he’s been careful. For months, he hasn’t crowded too close, hasn’t reached for Bucky or given any indication that he wants things to go back to the way they were. He knows that Bucky remembers thanks to a long, heartbreaking conversation in the dark one night after an especially violent episode triggered by Steve inadvertently walking into the bathroom while Bucky was changing. Bucky knows they used to be lovers, but they have both carefully been ignoring the reality of it.

All that care and gentle regard went right out the window two weeks ago when an argument over what to have for dinner ended with Steve leaning forward and kissing Bucky, just the lightest brush of lips against the corner of the other man’s mouth. He’s not even sure why he did it. It was as if the joy of Bucky finally admitting to wanting something, being willing to argue for it rather than quietly doing what he was told, broke something loose in Steve and he couldn’t help himself.

Bucky kissed back for just a moment and for that moment everything was exactly how it should be. Less than a heartbeat later, Bucky pulled away, but his face lit up in wide-eyed wonder. He raised his right hand to brush fingertips over his lips, then quirked up one corner of his mouth into a sweet smile. “Pizza’s good if that’s what you want, Stevie,” he murmured, the Brooklyn drawl more evident than it had been in all the months since he’d been back.

A dozen different responses raced through Steve’s head, but in the end, he hadn’t said anything at all. Instead, he just ordered the pizza and stuffed his feelings and desires down along with almost a dozen slices. 

Bucky has been quiet, but increasingly physically affectionate since then, and Steve hasn’t wanted to break the fragile peace by asking point blank how Bucky feels about the kiss. Instead, they dance around each other and Steve tries not to read into every brush of Bucky’s hand across his shoulders and or the way the other man lounges a little closer on the couch than he did before. It hasn't been easy, but Steve has been determined to go back to being careful, being the perfect friend and exactly what Bucky needs. And it had worked, until tonight.

_With just the slightest movement, Bucky tugged on Steve’s hips while slowly, languidly rocking himself against Steve’s ass. Steve’s breath caught, then released in a long, groaning sigh. Bucky was clearly aroused, an insistent hardness against him that Steve never thought he’d feel again, and the pressure released a torrent of want inside him._

_Bucky’s left hand pushed while the right one pulled and Steve went with the motion, allowing himself to be turned until he was pressed back against the sink. Wide grey-blue eyes bored into his and Bucky’s lips parted with a soft huff. A few long, silky strands escaped the tie Bucky had used to pull his hair back and it made him look impossibly younger. Steve’s breath caught and held this time, his whole body yearning. They were still pressed together and he felt his body responding to Bucky’s heat. He swallowed hard just before Bucky leaned forward and captured Steve’s mouth in a kiss that was nowhere near as sweet as Steve’s impulsive one had been._

Steve crushes the empty water bottle in one hand and tosses it toward the recycling bin. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel the insistent pressure of Bucky’s lips, the scrape of his stubble and the warm, wet slide of his tongue as he tentatively licked across the seam of Steve’s mouth. He runs one weary hand down his face before escaping the kitchen and the tortuous memory of the soft, tantalizing sounds Bucky made when Steve parted his lips and let him deepen the kiss.

_Although Steve’s eyes had slipped closed with the first touch of Bucky’s lips, they snapped open when he pulled away to drag his mouth across Steve’s jaw to the hollow behind his ear. Bucky applied just the slightest suction there, enough to pull another soft sound from Steve, before drawing back to shoot Steve a small grin. “Taste just as good as ya ever did, Stevie,” he murmured, rocking his hips forward to grind against Steve again. “Feel just as good, too.”_

_Steve groaned, cock throbbing insistently in the tight confine of his jeans as Bucky continued to rock against him. “You too, Buck. Christ,” he breathed. “You feel so good.” His hands uncurled from where they had reflexively gripped the edge of the counter and he lifted them to grip the sides of Bucky’s face, hair tangling in Steve’s fingers as the rough rasp of Bucky’s stubble grazed his fingertips. The dam inside him broke and he suddenly couldn’t get close enough. He used his grip on Bucky’s jaw to angle him the way he wanted and leaned in for another kiss._

The broken lamp lays on the floor next to the overturned end table. Steve lifts the table back to its upright position and gathers up the cracked ceramic. It’s beyond repair, like so many of the furnishings Bucky has demolished and Tony stopped commenting on the destruction months ago. He’d waved his hand dismissively when Steve balked at the credit card he’d proffered so that Steve could replace everything, commenting that they should find things more to their taste anyway. Steve can’t imagine what the last year and a half would have been like without Tony’s support.

The sharp pain in his ribs has faded to a mild twinge when he turns too quickly, so it seems like they aren’t cracked after all. Steve is grateful because Bucky moped around for weeks after he broke Steve’s arm the last time. His dejection had lasted longer than the soft cast one of Tony’s staff doctors had applied. The ache in his jaw is almost unnoticeable as well. If the bruise is faded by tomorrow, he might be able to get away with not telling the rest of team what happened tonight. Tony has never confirmed nor denied whether JARVIS keeps him updated on Bucky’s behavior, but he assumes Tony knows everything that happens in Stark Tower and has chosen not to mention it. The fact that Bucky’s condition has elicited discretion from even Tony says a lot about how tense the situation has been.

Steve isn’t sure how he’d explain it anyway. He barely understands what happened himself, how it went sideways so quickly. He’s sure it’s his fault, though. He pushed Bucky too far, too fast. That’s more than clear. He’s been so selfish. Bucky can barely remember how to take care of himself at times and Steve somehow thought it was a good idea to push Bucky into rekindling their physical relationship. With Steve acting as his caregiver on the bad days, the thought of Bucky feeling too indebted to say no makes Steve’s stomach sour. Maybe he thinks he owes it to Steve for taking care of him. Steve swallows hard to stop the urge to vomit. Whether Bucky initiated tonight or not, his reaction proved that he doesn’t want it, that he isn’t ready.

_Shocking pain, sharp and bright, exploded through his jaw as Bucky shoved him away with his metal hand hard against Steve’s sternum, the other connecting with the side of Steve’s face. The counter dug into his back as the incredible force of Bucky’s right hook propelled him back against the sink. By the time he shook his head to clear it, Bucky was already moving away from him toward the living room, his muscles locked and rigid. Even from behind, the posture and gait of a deadly predator were obviously indicative of the Winter Soldier rather than Bucky Barnes. Steve’s stomach clenched in panic._

_Bucky stalked toward the door, but Steve shook off his fear and launched himself around the other side of the kitchen island to put himself in Bucky’s path. He wished he hadn’t left his shield in the bedroom. “It’s okay, Buck. Whatever upset you, we can work it out,” Steve tried, holding out one hand placatingly._

_Cold, blank eyes looked back at him and Steve was catapulted back to that day on the helicarrier. There was no emotion on Bucky’s face at all, no indication that he even recognized Steve. He growled something in Russian too low for Steve to catch and the servos in the metal arm made a soft whirring sound as he struck out in an attempt to knock Steve out of the way._

_Steve dodged and spun toward the living room just before Bucky’s metal fist connected with the drywall right behind where Steve’s head had been. Continuing the motion, he brought himself back around just in time to catch Bucky’s heavy boot just under his left arm. The loud cracking sound that accompanied the impact was coupled with an explosion of pain spearing through his side. He stumbled sideways into the small table next to the couch, sending the lamp crashing to the floor behind it._

The balcony light is still on and the door is still open, so Steve wanders over to glance out into the shadows and pull the door shut. He can see now that Bucky isn’t out there, but one of the chairs is pushed against the wall at the far end of the balcony. With the extra height from the chair, it is just possible for Bucky to reach the small ledge that houses the next window up. Steve has never seen him make the climb up twenty-three stories to the roof and he has no doubt that he never wants to.

“Ah, JARVIS?” he asks, his voice coming out raspier than he expected. He clears his throat and tries again. “JARVIS, is Bucky . . .”

“Sergeant Barnes is on the roof, sir,” the AI’s clipped British voice interrupts.

“And he’s okay?”

“He is . . . ” There is a long pause during which Steve gets the impression that JARVIS is looking for the least offensive word to use. Sometimes Steve finds it hard to believe that Tony created something that has more tact than its maker. “ . . . stable but agitated, sir. Would you like me to request assistance?”

Steve shakes his head, even though he’s not completely sure JARVIS knows how to interpret the motion. “No, no, that’s okay. Can you just let me know if anything changes? If it seems like he’s getting worse?”

“Certainly, Captain Rogers. Sergeant Barnes is pacing and talking to himself in a manner that suggests he is upset, but he does seem to be calming down. Based on previous episodes of this nature, I estimate that he will return to your apartment within the hour.”

“Good.” Steve swallows and clears his throat again. “That’s good. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

_Bucky’s hand was on the sliding glass door to the balcony when Steve pulled himself up by the edge of the couch, ignoring the crunch of ceramic under his shoes. “Солдат,” Steve barked. He hates doing it, hates the taste of the foreign words in his mouth and that he needs to speak the language of people who tortured and controlled Bucky for decades, but Natasha figured out very early on that it is the only way to break through when he’s too far gone. It doesn’t always bring him back, but it at least allows them to communicate with him. “Прекратить!”_

_Already rigid muscles locked even tighter as Bucky fought the command. He yanked the door open with enough force that if it was designed for anything other than a building full of superheroes, it would have smashed when it slammed into the other side of the frame. He stepped out onto the balcony, then paused. “Параметры задания приняты." His voice was a low, emotionless growl when he spit the words back at Steve without turning around. Steve only had a moment to wonder what that meant before Bucky sank into the darkness at the edge of the balcony and was gone._

Steve finishes his evening routine and crawls into bed even though he isn’t sure he will be able to sleep. He turns Bucky’s response to his command to stand down over and over in his head. “Mission parameters accepted.” What mission? What could that possibly mean? He can ask Bucky in the morning since he always remembers the details of these episodes later, but it’s always a crap shoot whether Bucky will actually explain. If only Steve could figure out what triggered him this time. He turns the evening's events over and over in his head until the rush of adrenaline wears off and the emotional and physical exhaustion tows him under.

The apartment is quiet and still around him when Steve gasps awake, the edge of the bed dipping as a weight settles onto the mattress beside him. Bucky’s hair is loose and tangled around his face, partially shielding his eyes. Although Steve adjusts to the dark quickly, he wouldn’t be able to read them anyway. Without speaking, Bucky pulls the covers back and Steve’s entire body goes tense, preparing for another attack.

Bucky just sighs and slides under the covers, flicking them back up over them both when he’s done. He curls his body toward Steve, metal fingertips just brushing Steve’s hip. Steve forces himself to breathe out slowly and carefully release the tension in his muscles so that Bucky can’t feel the discomfort radiating from him. They’ve shared a bed dozens, if not hundreds, of times, but not since Bucky has been back. There are still days when Bucky can’t stand to be in a room with other people, even Steve, so inviting him to share a bed was out of the question.

If Bucky notices the tension, he doesn’t comment. He just shuffles forward carefully until his head is resting on Steve’s shoulder, tangled hair brushing Steve’s cheek. He is unnaturally still for a moment as if he’s waiting for Steve to shove him away. In the silence, Steve can’t even hear him breathing.

There are a dozen things Steve wants to ask, questions he needs to be answered about what they’re doing and what went wrong tonight, but he’s too exhausted to fight anymore. Instead, he swallows hard and raises his hand to rest on the cool metal of Bucky’s wrist where it’s still gripping his hip. He tugs gently, pulling until Bucky’s arm is stretched across his chest and Bucky is more firmly pressed against his side.

Finally, after another few heartbeats of tension, Bucky sucks in a shaky breath and lets the air out slowly, his body relaxing minutely. His breathing slowly evens out and after a few moments of stillness, Steve wonders if he has fallen asleep. He’s about to close his eyes and try to sleep as well when Bucky sighs softly. “Sorry, Stevie,” he murmurs, his voice rough as if he’s been screaming or crying. Steve isn’t sure which would be worse.

Steve can barely feel the ache in his jaw or his ribs, but even if they were screaming in pain he would answer the same way. “It’s okay, Buck. There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

Bucky lets out of soft huff of disagreement. “I ain’t broken,” he says softly, sounding small and scared and like he believes exactly the opposite.

Steve’s heart shatters all over again. He slides his hand up Bucky’s metal arm, past the gnarled mess of scar tissue on his shoulder, until his fingers are pressed lightly against Bucky’s neck. “I know you aren’t,” he offers, praying that his voice holds more confidence than he feels. It must be enough to pass muster because Bucky lets out another small sigh and curls one leg in so that his foot is tangled between Steve’s. His body relaxes even further until he’s a warm, lax weight in Steve’s arms.

Steve has laid awake countless nights fantasizing about this moment, holding Bucky against him, but it doesn’t feel right. He might have dreamed of this, but it’s also proof that he’s nowhere near the friend that Bucky needs. Obviously, Bucky can be close to him without triggering an episode when nothing sexual is happening. After everything that Bucky has been through, most of which Steve will probably never know, Steve has no right to push him for more. He can do this. He can be what Bucky needs without forcing him into anything that he doesn’t want. Steve just needs to make it clear that Bucky doesn’t owe him anything. Decision made, Steve lets himself relax and enjoy the feel of his friend in his arms, even if that’s all he ever gets.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve isn’t sure whether he’s disappointed or grateful that Bucky isn’t in bed when he wakes up the next morning. On one hand, he’s been waking up to the fantasy of holding Bucky for months, but the emotional roller-coaster of the previous night has left him more than a little raw. He’s not sure he would have the strength to put on the strong front he knows he needs if Bucky was in his arms.

He shouldn’t be surprised that Bucky is already awake, considering that he barely sleeps at all these days. When he does, it’s never in his own bedroom down the hall. When he first moved in, Bucky had made a concerted effort to sleep in his own room. A series of panic-fueled episodes in the middle of the night had quickly ruined that idea, though. These days, Steve is more likely to find his friend curled up in a defensible corner of the apartment than in the expansive bed in his room.

Forever generous with his money, Tony had offered to give him his own floor in the tower, but Bucky refused, saying that he wanted to be with Steve. At the time, Steve had been silently warmed by the knowledge that Bucky wanted to be near him. Now, he’s more worried that it’s just a symptom of Bucky feeling like Steve owns him, that he answers to Steve the same way he used to belong to HYDRA. Another wave of nausea makes Steve’s stomach turn over.

Whatever panic starts to edge up at the possibility of Bucky’s own morning-after breakdown is headed off when Steve hears the shower running. Although there’s a guest bathroom down the hallway, the door to his in-suite bathroom is cracked open far enough that steam wafts through. Steve entertains the thought of Bucky naked and wet less than a dozen feet away for far longer than he is proud of, before forcing himself to roll out of bed. For Bucky’s sake, he needs to get a grip on himself.

He pads down the hall to the kitchen, turning away before he can see the empty table beside the couch where the lamp should be. Although Bucky is still more likely to eat whatever is put in front of him than to ask for something specific, Steve has been studying his friend for months. He won’t come right out and say it, but Steve can tell that Bucky likes pancakes and eggs, but barely tolerates oatmeal. He’ll savor a breakfast burrito with bacon, but he barely forces down a smoothie. The similarities in the foods Bucky dislikes tell Steve things he wish he didn’t have to think about.

With a practiced ease that he never thought he’d be able to manage, he programs the coffee maker, then pulls out eggs, bacon, and cheese. The eggs are scrambled with a little cheese and the bacon is just starting to sizzle when he hears the shower turn off. He turns to pull the stack of tortillas out of the microwave and catches sight of Bucky coming through the living room. He’s wearing one of Steve’s t-shirts and a pair of sweats, his damp hair loose around his face. It’s been a few days since Bucky has shaved, but even with the scruff he looks relaxed and far younger than he should. Steve’s chest tightens at Bucky’s bare feet. For the longest time, Bucky didn’t feel comfortable moving around the apartment in anything less than full tactical gear, even sleeping in his heavy combat boots. That has to be a good sign.

Steve swallows hard and turns back to the stove. The bacon is perfectly crispy, so he transfers the first few pieces to a paper towel covered plate to drain, then starts to reach into the cupboard for two mugs. His muscles go rigid with tension when Bucky trails gentle fingers up Steve’s sides, but it isn’t until Bucky leans in to nuzzle just below Steve’s ear that he jerks away, blood pounding in his ears.

“Sorry.” Bucky’s voice is soft, barely loud enough to hear over the sizzle of bacon. He steps back, giving Steve room to set down the mugs and move the last pieces to the plate before turning off the stove. Bucky won’t meet Steve’s eyes when he turns and braces himself against the counter before looking up. Tension radiates from the other man and his expression is full of hurt before he forces his face to go blank.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Buck,” Steve tries, but his tone sounds thin even to himself.

Bucky scoffs, perching on the edge of the table in a show of openness, even though every line of his body belies his discomfort. He flicks his eyes up to Steve’s before quickly looking away again. “Don’t seem that way, Steve. Seems like I’m messin’ up pretty regular.”

“This is hard—”

“Knock it off,” Bucky barks, cutting off Steve’s half-formed reassurance. “I don’t need you to coddle me. I don’t know why I went mental last night but I’m not too stuck in my own head to tell that it ain’t makin’ things easier for you.”

Steve’s hands curl against the counter to stop himself from reaching for his friend. The man was held captive and tortured for seventy-odd years and he’s concerned that things aren’t easy for Steve. Even after all this time he’s still looking out for Steve, whether he needs it or not. “That don’t matter, Buck. You shouldn’t feel bad for needing more time. I’m the one who should be apologizing for pushing you too fast.”

This time when Bucky meets Steve’s eyes, he doesn’t bother to alter his expression. His pale eyes practically snap with frustration. “Jesus Christ, Rogers. I’ve been waiting for this for seventy years. If that seems too fast for you, it’s no wonder you were twenty-three before you let me suck your dick.” The servos in his cybernetic arm whir softly as he clenches and relaxes his fist.

Heat rushes across Steve’s face until he’s sure that the tips of his ears are red, but he doesn’t let Bucky distract him. Bucky has been doing that since they were kids; saying something risque during a fight to get Steve flustered so he could win the argument. “You know what I mean,” he says more evenly than he feels, pushing away from the counter. Turning away, he starts plating breakfast to give himself a moment to calm down. He takes a few deep breaths and wills his half-hard dick to ignore Bucky’s taunt, then turns back around with both plates. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything, Buck. If you’re not ready or if it’s just not something you want anymore, you just gotta tell me. It’s not like I’ll be mad or anything.”

Bucky looks from the plates Steve has set on the table to his face, then shrugs and slides into the chair closest to the door. “This isn’t about me owin’ you anything,” he says, picking up the burrito and taking a tentative bite. He tips his head in thanks when Steve sets a cup of the fancy flavored coffee Bucky prefers down in front of him. The liquid is pale from the creamer and three spoonfuls of sugar Steve added, just the way he likes it. He takes a sip, then waits until Steve sits down across from him with his own breakfast before adding, “I want you, trust me.”

Steve thinks back to all the breakfasts they’ve shared in their lives, but he can’t ever recall talking about their sex life over eggs and bacon. The modern world is strange in more ways than one. Steve clears his throat and looks up to meet Bucky’s eyes. “I’m not tryin’ to be difficult here, but it’s kinda hard to believe that when you’re tossing me across the room.”

Bucky’s bites back a harsh sigh, then chews and swallows another three bites before he answers. “I don’t know what happened. I was into it right up until you touched my face.”  He looks like he’s holding back more that he wants to say.

Steve stops chewing and stares hard at Bucky across the table. “Not sure how far this can go if I can’t touch you without triggering some kind of panic attack, Buck.”

Bucky sets his mug back on the table with a thud. “That ain’t,” he starts, then cuts himself off with a rough growl. “Dammit.” He curls both hands into fists but lets them rest on the table.

Steve wants to reach for him, to comfort him in some way, but he curls his own hands into his lap instead. “I never thought,” he tries, but his voice cracks on the last word. He swallows hard, clears his throat, and starts again. “I just want you to be happy, Buck. I want you to feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe.” Bucky’s expression softens slightly. “Safe as I ever feel anywhere, anyway. And I do want this. Maybe we could just go a little slower? Ease into it?”

Bucky holds Steve’s gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes back down to his nearly empty plate. There’s a small, painful twist in Steve’s chest at the flicker of hope he saw in Bucky’s eyes before he looked away. “Yeah,” he manages past the lump in his throat. “Yeah, Buck. We can do that.”

The slightest nod of his head is the only indication Steve gets that Bucky heard him. They finish their breakfast in silence and Bucky offers to clean up, so Steve takes the opportunity escape the kitchen by mumbling that he’s going to take a shower. He feels like a coward.

Steve doesn’t see much of Bucky for the rest of the day. Most days, he’s happy spend his free time hanging out around the apartment with Bucky, but today he’s selfishly glad for debriefings, training seminars, and planning meetings. It’s not mountains of red tape and bureaucracy like it was with SHIELD, but leading the Avenger’s Initiative in the aftermath of SHEILD’s fall has definitely had it own set of headaches. They go where they’re needed when they’re needed and Steve no longer worries that the other members of his team have a different agenda than his. They’ve even done some work with Coulson’s new team and isn’t that a kick in the teeth? Death doesn’t seem to have the same permanence these days as it used to.

He needs to get his head on straight if he’s going to be what Bucky needs, so drowning himself in work is preferable to sitting around brooding. Hours of dealing with Tony while testing a new set of gear, reviewing reports from their last mission with Natasha, and looking at long range plans for the team’s humanitarian efforts with Pepper leave him with no extra energy to devote to ruminating. He’s tired in a way that is worse than the most physically demanding mission, but no longer on edge, by the time he makes it back upstairs to the apartment.

There’s upbeat modern music playing when he walks through the door. According to the calendar they keep on the fridge, Bucky only had one therapy session scheduled today and if he’s in the mood to play music, it must have gone well. Chances are one or more of the other Avengers  swung by to fill the rest of the day, so he probably got in a good workout sparring with Clint or Natasha as well. Nat hadn’t said anything about seeing Bucky today during their meeting, but Steve knows that she doesn’t tell him everything. She and Bucky have that in common.  

Steve usually isn’t sure what to expect when he gets home. Sometimes it seems like the slow days leave Bucky with too much time to think. No matter how Steve and the rest of the team try to keep him entertained and out of his own head, the days with too much empty space always end with a pinched, drawn look around Bucky’s eyes. He usually spends the evening sitting on the balcony staring out across the city in silence. There’s no point even talking to him on those days because he won’t answer anyone but JARVIS.

The busy days are hard on Bucky in their own equally devastating way, with endless therapy sessions or assessments and evaluations by the professionals on brainwashing and PTSD that Tony has flown in from all over the world dredging up things Steve is sure he’d rather forget. They both leave Bucky shaken and irritable. It feels incredibly selfish, but at least an emotionally wrung out and combative Bucky is less heart-breaking than the ghost he becomes on the quiet days. Steve has learned to bite his tongue and dodge any punches thrown his way, but at least Bucky is one hundred percent present on those nights.

More and more often, and Steve tries not to get his hopes up on any given day, there’s music playing when he gets home. Those are the days Steve has started to live for. On those days, Bucky is relaxed and open. Steve tries not to compare him to his old self, but it’s hard not to. They have dinner together, joke around, and often Bucky talks Steve into telling him stories about their pasts to see if he can fill in the details. It makes Steve’s heart ache, but in a good way, when Bucky is able to pull up some detail that even Steve had forgotten.

Steve closes the door behind him and crosses the room to where Bucky is sprawled out on the couch, one foot tapping along with the Fall Out Boy song JARVIS is broadcasting through the apartment’s speakers. Antiques Roadshow is playing on mute on the huge television, but Bucky doesn’t seem to be watching it. Instead, he’s flipping through the pages of a comic book with a brightly colored rendering of Tony’s Iron Man suit on the cover, a small smile curving his lips. While Tony continues to tease Steve that he dresses like Howard Stark in his prime, Bucky has more than embraced the twenty-first century. Instead of khakis, a button down, and loafers, he’s wearing dark purple skinny jeans, a Sex Pistols t-shirt, and his feet are bare again. The sight pulls a smile out of Steve in response.

“Are you joining the Tony Stark fan club?” Steve asks with a grin, dropping into the generously padded chair across from him. They both get that the joke is even funnier because Bucky and Tony barely tolerate each other on the best of days. The clear, bright smile Bucky shoots him in response gives him hope that maybe they actually can make this work.

“Did you know somebody drew comics of us?” Bucky asks with a teasing glint in his eyes. A few strands of hair have come loose from low bun on the back of his head and brush against his cheek when he turns. “Clint didn’t have any Captain America ones, but he gave me a couple about Stark and Nat because he’s in them.”

Steve’s fingers itch to reach out and brush back the loose strands of hair, so he curls them into his pants leg instead. He ratchets up the humor in his voice as a defense when he retorts, “I’ve seen some of them. Don’t think you’re gonna be too happy with the Captain America ones, though. They made you a kid wearing tights in a lot of them.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Seriously? That’s fucked up, Rogers.”

Steve’s smile widens. “I have a couple packed away that Tony gave me right after we met. I’ll dig them out for you after dinner.”

On the good days, the ones that Steve cherishes, Bucky helps him cook. Through trial and error, Steve has learned not to suggest creamy soups of any kind, mashed potatoes, or soft, sticky rice, so they decide on rosemary chicken and pasta. Tasty and unlikely to trigger Bucky at all. JARVIS helpfully projects the recipe into the air above the center island and they move around the kitchen like a team as they work. In the close confines, it’s impossible to keep from brushing against each other occasionally, and Steve is relieved when Bucky doesn’t flinch or jerk away. If anything, Bucky seems play up the light, innocent touches without taking them too far.

While the chicken bakes, they argue amicably about what to watch. Bucky wants to continue watching Antiques Roadshow, but Steve hates when people bring items from the 30s or 40s. It reminds him a little too much of the Smithsonian exhibit spreading his personal items out for the world to see. He may be a part of America’s past, but people poking through his personal sketchbooks makes him antsy, like they can see how he feels about Peggy and Bucky right there on the pages. Knowing how much it bothers him, Bucky puts up only a token fight before giving in and letting Steve put on the next episode of the crime drama Clint has gotten them watching.

They eat curled up on the couch together, plates balanced in their laps. The chicken is juicy, the pasta is perfectly al dente, and Bucky’s leg is warm and solid where it’s pressed against his. Contentment settles warmly in Steve’s chest. On the television, there are waves, water, and a dead body, but by the time the upbeat theme song starts playing, Steve has lost interest. Rather than focusing on the  pretty, scantily clad women who surf across the screen in front him, he watches Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

Bucky eats slowly and steadily, like he always does, but at least he seems to be enjoying the food rather than just tolerating it. That’s better than the months at the beginning when Bucky barely ate at all. Just like the food, Bucky seems to be engrossed in the show. He chuckles at the jokes and Steve smiles more at the rich timbre of his laugh than at whatever is happening on the screen. After going so long without, just watching his friend enjoying something fills Steve with enough joy that he’s sad when the episode comes to an end. Amidst quips and an entertaining car chase, the partners on the screen catch their bad-guy and as the credits roll, Steve turns to Bucky to ask whether they should start the next episode.  

Bucky isn’t looking at the screen, though. He’s staring right at Steve, his eyes tracing the planes of Steve’s face like he’s trying to memorize it. “Shut it down, JARVIS,” he murmurs softly and the screen goes black, leaving them bathed in shadows. He takes Steve’s empty plate and carefully stacks it with his own on the coffee table before turning to press his body against Steve’s side.  

Steve knows that look in Bucky’s eyes, heat and humor and affection. It’s a look that is more familiar to him than his own reflection and it starts a buzz under his skin that is both arousal and fear. Bucky said he wants this, wants Steve, and Steve is trying desperately to believe that everything will be okay. The last thing he wants is to hurt his friend in any way.

“Stop thinking so hard, Stevie,” Bucky whispers, reaching out to gently smooth his flesh thumb across Steve’s tense forehead. He leans in slowly, carefully telegraphing his intentions and giving Steve time to stop him. It seems ridiculous that Bucky should be treating him like a skittish animal when Bucky is the one who should be nervous. No matter how far they get from Brooklyn, some things never change. Because of it, there’s still a part of Steve that wonders if this is a good idea.

That part is silenced as soon as Bucky’s mouth covers his. The kiss is slow and sweet; closed mouths and the smooth, slick glide of Bucky’s lips. When Bucky flicks his tongue against the corner of Steve’s mouth, he can’t hold back the groan at the sensations that rock through him. Bucky raises one hand to smooth through Steve’s hair until he’s gripping the back of his head with enough force to hold him still while Bucky trails soft, wet kisses across his jaw to his neck then back, stubble rasping softly against Steve’s face. Steve wants to drag Bucky onto his lap so badly, to touch and take and never stop, that his hands twitch where he has them curled against the couch. A tiny, fine tremor starts in his muscles from holding himself so still.

Bucky gently tugs on Steve’s lower lip with his teeth, then pulls back for a moment. “Relax, Stevie. I got you.”

Steve opens his eyes and meets Bucky’s gaze from only a few inches away. For a moment, eyes that are grey-blue and dark with need search his. Whatever Bucky is looking for, whatever reassurance he needs, he must find it. He nods and, in a move that is both graceful and incredibly hot, Bucky swings his leg over and settles in Steve’s lap. His skinny jeans are tight enough that there is no hiding the bulge of his erection as he grinds against Steve, diving back in with a kiss that is far filthier than before.

The hesitance with which Bucky slides his metal arm up under Steve’s shirt contrasts with the dirty way he’s rocking his hips forward. The metal is cooler than his flesh hand, which is gripping Steve’s hip on the other side so that Bucky can use the leverage to grind harder against him. Steve is fully hard now, and more turned on than he can ever remember being before. Of course, the last time he was in this position, it was 1945 and the entire Howling Commandos were bivouacked in tents around them. Though the serum made Steve run a lot hotter than he had before, the cold of late January in the Alps settled in his bones in a way that only Bucky could chase away. Even without counting the seventy years on ice, no one has touched him like this in almost four years. Whether they get any farther than rocking against each other on the couch or not, Steve is fairly certain he won’t last very long anyway.

“Come on, don’t let me hangin’, Stevie,” Bucky pants against Steve’s lips with a ragged groan. “Please. Come on, doll. Touch me.” His voice is raw from swallowing his moans.

The friction is amazing and Steve can’t stop himself from thrusting up against Bucky every time he rocks his hips down. Pleasure curls low in his stomach, making his balls draw up. He desperately wants to get out of his pants, to feel Bucky’s cock slide against the bare skin of his own, but with the way the heat is building he’s not sure either of them will make it that long. Bucky’s metal hand creeps up his chest farther, drawing small circles and teasing the skin, and when his fingers brush over Steve’s nipple it almost tips him over the edge.

“Touch me,” Bucky pleads again, voice like gravel and his pupils blown wide. He slides his hand down Steve’s side until he’s able to grab Steve’s hand, pulling it up to flatten against his own hip.

For just a second, Steve tenses, almost expecting the touch to trigger another aggressive episode. When it doesn’t, he relaxes and reflexively brings up his other hand to curl over the fabric covering Bucky’s left hip, the rocking movements driving his hard cock against Bucky’s over and over until it’s almost too much. He squeezes gently, hands wide on Bucky’s hips as he urges him on; Bucky’s appreciative moans echoing in the room.

“Buck, please, I need,” Steve finds his voice, only to lose it again when Bucky leans in to attack his mouth. Bucky swallows whatever else Steve was going to say, tongue plunging in to tangle with Steve’s in a dirty, heart-stopping kiss.  Steve shudders against him, so close to the edge that it won’t take much more to send him careening over. He slides his hands up inside Bucky’s shirt, fingers tingling from the heat radiating from his skin.

There’s no warning, none at all. Steve doesn’t even register Bucky leaning away until hard, unrelenting metal is clamped around his throat, just a hairsbreadth from crushing his windpipe. One moment, he’s tugging Bucky forward and breaking the kiss to drag his lips against the rough stubble that always seems to cover Bucky’s jaw these days, and the next he’s crashing into the floor on the other side of the couch, the pain of the landing melding into the fire of pulling in a breath.

Years of training and superhuman reflexes kick in and Steve rolls with the momentum of Bucky’s throw, coming up into fighting stance. Bucky is crouched on the other side of the couch, eyes wide and panicked. He’s panting hard, though whether from agitation or from what they had just been doing, Steve isn’t sure.  His loose hair is tangled in front of his face making him look even more crazed, like a wild animal instead of the vibrant man who had just been in Steve’s lap.

Steve’s eyes flick from Bucky to the shield resting against the kitchen island behind him. Bucky tracks the movement and dives behind the couch before Steve can move, tucking into a roll and coming up with a six-inch combat knife. Steve had no idea Bucky had it on himself despite how close they’d been just moments before. Steve takes a moment to mourn his obviously false belief that Bucky feels safe enough in the apartment to no longer arm himself.

There’s a tense moment when Steve is sure Bucky is going to lunge at him. Taking on the Winter Solider in hand-to-hand knife combat again terrifies him. Every time this happens, every time he faces off against Bucky, a little part of Steve withers. He remembers the lengths he had to go to on the helicarrier to stop Bucky, and dislocating his friend’s shoulder or choking him unconscious are things Steve never wants to do again.

He waits, heart in his throat but barely breathing in order to keep himself perfectly still, but Bucky doesn’t attack. Instead, he just watches Steve, eyes glassy with fear. The stare-down lasts for only a few minutes, but it feels like hours. Hated Russian words are on the tip of his tongue, but he holds off, willing Bucky to come out of it on his own.

All at once, like a marionette whose strings have been cut, Bucky crumples to the floor with a ragged cry. Steve is afraid to move, afraid to approach Bucky lest he start the episode all over again. Instead, he holds himself back as Bucky curls into a ball on the floor, the knife discarded next to him. Harsh sobs shake his body and he wraps his arms around himself, knees curled to his chest as if he’s trying to make himself as small as possible.

Steve looks away, unable to watch his friend fall apart without moving to comfort him, but the terror of making things worse holds him captive. Bucky rocks and shakes, tangled hair wet with his tears and sticking to his cheeks. Finally, Steve can’t take it any more. He drops to the floor and slowly scoots closer until he’s only a few inches away. His hand is shaking when he reaches for Bucky and when he hesitantly presses his fingertips to dark, snarled hair, Bucky whimpers and flinches away. Steve stops himself from jerking his hand back through sheer willpower and scoots even closer.

This time, when Steve touches Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky doesn’t pull away. Steve takes that as a good sign and gathers his friend closer until Bucky’s head is resting in his lap. He runs his fingers through soft strands, carefully working out the knots that have gathered.  There’s silence in the apartment for a long while, interrupted only by Bucky’s harsh breathing, tears wetting Steve’s pant leg. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Bucky shifts and turns in Steve’s lap until he can press his face against Steve’s stomach, both arms reaching to circle Steve’s waist. He holds tight, like he’s frightened to let go for fear of floating away.

Steve continues to stroke his hair, down his shoulders to his back, always careful not to touch Bucky’s bare skin. Steve hasn’t become a successful tactician by ignoring details. It’s too much, too many liberties Steve has taken. They’re liberties that Bucky has allowed him to take, but more and more Steve wonders if Bucky can really say no. It is up to Steve to stop asking.

After a while, Bucky’s breathing evens out, but it still takes Steve what feels like endless minutes to realize Bucky is asleep. He waits, letting Bucky rest safe in his arms, before deciding that Bucky would be better off in his own bed. Despite his bulk, Steve lifts him easily, Bucky’s head lolling against Steve’s shoulder. He sniffles softly, pressing his face against Steve’s neck, but he doesn’t protest when Steve sets him gently into his own bed. As much as Steve wants to take Bucky to his own room, to hold him and protect him from anything that might hurt him whether real or only inside his head, he knows that the only thing in the apartment Bucky needs protecting from is Steve. It’s time to stop hurting his friend with his own selfishness.

Bucky curls onto his side when Steve pulls away and he tugs the covers up before backing toward the door. He’s so worn out and raw that he doesn’t even bother getting undressed before he falls into bed. Despite his exhaustion, echoes of Bucky’s sobs keep him up long past the time that his body should have given in to sleep.

He must sleep though, because he is awoken by a slight sound across the room. The door to his room is open and Bucky’s form is illuminated by the soft night light that JARVIS keep lit in the hallway. His eyes meet Bucky’s and there is wariness there, mixed with something that looks like longing. He holds his breath, waiting for Bucky to make a decision. When Bucky pulls in a deep, shuddering breath and closes his eyes before turning away to walk down the hallway, Steve tells himself it’s for the best.


	3. Chapter 3

It isn’t a matter for panic when Bucky isn’t in the apartment when Steve wakes up. That’s what Steve tells himself anyway. He isn’t particularly surprised when Bucky isn’t in his bed and at first he’s sure that Bucky is just tucked into some corner, like the bathtub or the clear space inside the hall closet. When an initial sweep of the apartment doesn’t turn him up, he starts to worry a little.

“JARVIS, did Bucky leave the apartment?” Steve doesn’t care that his voice sounds a little panicky because he knows JARVIS will never mention it. Unlike his creator, JARVIS has tact and compassion.

“Yes, sir. Sergeant Barnes exited your floor two hours and twenty-seven minutes ago. He is currently on the training floor with Ms. Romanoff.”

Since there’s no one but JARVIS present to see it, assuming Tony doesn’t monitor the security footage like a creep, Steve allows himself a sigh of relief. There’s a niggling desire to make his way downstairs, but it’s probably better to just let Bucky be. He’s comfortable with Natasha and if she helps him work out any lingering frustration or latent emotion left after last night, all the better. Steve can talk to Bucky just as easily when he comes back upstairs.

Steve’s own frustration is just as much physical as it is emotional. Two nights in a row of arousal cut short by panic-inducing aggression has left him edgy and more than a little uncomfortable. If he didn’t already feel bad enough about the previous evening’s events, waking up with a hard-on certainly didn’t help. Steve is no stranger to taking matters into his own hands considering that he’d been thawed and alone for almost three years before they found Bucky and brought him home. It just feels wrong, though, to get himself off knowing that he’ll be thinking about Bucky when he does. He opts for a cold shower instead, willfully ignoring the ache in his groin just like he does everything else he doesn’t want to think about.

He should get used to it anyway. As soon as Bucky comes back, Steve is going to sit him down and make him see reason. No matter what Bucky says, or thinks he wants, a return to their physical relationship obviously isn’t healthy. Steve doesn’t know what happened, what HYDRA did to Bucky to trigger him to violence when Steve touches his bare skin, but the few ideas he has make him sick to his stomach. He has stone-faced his way through descriptions of torture, the horrors of memory wipes, cryo freeze, programming, death, and destruction, but the thought of faceless HYDRA agents abusing Bucky in that way, using him for their own sexual gratification or violating him just for the dehumanizing humiliation, makes Steve wish he could hunt them all down all over again. Red hot rage mingles with nausea in the pit of his stomach.

Stomach too unsettled for food, Steve fixes himself a cup of tea and closes himself in his studio. It’s one of his favorite things about living in the tower. The floor to ceiling windows let in natural light during the day and JARVIS is programmed to take over by mimicking the soft glow of the sun after that, making the space ideal for painting. Tony may bluster and hide himself behind excess and bravado, but it is touches like this that tell Steve that Tony listens and cares more about people than he lets on. With his usual flippancy, Tony had tried to brush off Steve’s thanks by saying that the studio was Pepper’s idea, but Steve knows better.

Steve loses himself in cleaning up the details of a painting of the Brooklyn skyline as it looked in 1943. It isn’t hard to remember the details, but getting lost in memories slows him down. He swallows past the tightness in his throat and turns away from the easel when he hears the apartment door open and close. If it was anyone but Bucky or Tony, JARVIS would have announced them, so he quickly cleans his brush and goes to see which one it is.

Bucky stands in the kitchen, slowly chewing on an apple. His hair is pulled up into a bun again, with a riot of wisps loose around his temples. The soft, long sleeved t-shirt he wears clings to his chest and Steve is pretty sure that the sweatpants he’s wearing came from his closet. Bucky has co-opted enough of Steve’s wardrobe that he’s not even sure anymore. If his easy slouch and loose limbs are any indication, he’s relaxed and at ease. His eyes light up when he looks up to see Steve watching him.

Steve wishes he could return Bucky’s lopsided grin with any kind of genuineness, but the emotional rollercoaster of the last two days has left him tense and wary. He tries a smile that must not look too forced, because Bucky just motions him closer.

“Nat said to tell you that you still owe her a round in training room,” Bucky says around a large bite of apple. He cocks one hip and leans against the counter, posture at ease.

Stunned by Bucky’s ability to go from the mess he was last night to this cool facade, Steve just stares at him. Bucky always has been good at compartmentalizing. Steve can’t even pretend that’s a Winter Soldier trait or something he’s learned in treatment. During the war, when all the bloodshed and mayhem got to Steve, it was always Bucky that pulled him back up. No matter how dark the shadows in his own eyes got, he was always there for Steve. Steve wonders guiltily if that’s what Bucky is doing now.

“She just wants a chance to hit me with one of her taser disks again,” Steve retorts with feigned nonchalance. He slides onto a stool at the island in an effort to not hover. Even after all this time, he still feels too big, too ungainly, and out of touch with the increased mass of his body. Especially in tense emotional situations like this, he misses being smaller.

Bucky rubs his metal arm near the elbow and grimaces. “Those fuckers really sting.”

Steve nods an affirmative. Nat won’t test her gear on just anyone, so Steve tries to take her abuse as a sign of their friendship. It also helps that both he and Bucky are practically indestructible under most circumstances and have a pain tolerance much higher than anyone else in the tower. Steve wonders if Tony considered the benefits of having super powered guinea pigs in the tower before he offered Stark Tower as a home base for the Avenger’s Initiative. Tony really is his father’s son whether he wants to admit it or not.

There’s a soft clicking sound when Bucky shifts his weight and he grins when Steve looks up. He reaches behind himself and pulls out a pair of shiny silver handcuffs, raising one eyebrow as he holds them out to Steve. “Taser disks aren't the only toys Nat keeps up her sleeve.”

Steve's eyes widen as he glances from the cuffs to Bucky's face. He makes an inarticulate sound meant as a question.

Bucky shrugs, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I thought we could give these a try.”

Nausea turns Steve's stomach sour. How can Bucky even joke about something like this? “I'm not going to restrain you,” he bites out harshly. “Christ, what are you thinking? I'm not going to force you to do something you need to be tied down for.” He ignores the way his voice cracks on the last word.

Bucky looks stricken for a moment before his face heats up. He glances away then back at Steve. “Well,” he says with a sheepish grin. “They ain’t for me, Stevie. They're for you.”

Steve desperately tries to ignore the heat that pulses through him at the image Bucky’s words conjure. They’ve never used any kind of restraints before. Before the war, it only took one hand for Bucky to pin Steve’s smaller frame to the bed and after Project Rebirth, Bucky seemed to get more of a thrill out of knowing that Steve willingly did whatever he said without needing to be physically controlled. It takes a moment before Steve can meet his eye again and choke out, “For me?”

“Yeah. I was tellin’ Nat—”

“You talked to Nat about us? About us having sex?”

Bucky just cocks his head to one side and fights back a grin. “Well, yeah. She ain’t just a dame, y’know? She knows about shit like this.”

“About handcuffs?” Steve asks incredulously, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, trust me, Stevie. The Widow not only knows about handcuffs, she’s got some creative ideas about the things two fellas such as ourselves could get up to with ‘em.” He doesn’t even bother to try to hide his teasing smile anymore.

Steve closes his eyes and takes two deep breaths. He can’t find words that even begin to capture what is wrong with this situation.

There’s still a teasing gleam in Bucky’s eyes when he reopens them, but Bucky’s voice is serious when he continues, “No matter what you think, I do want this. Most days it feels like I’m gonna go crazy if I don’t touch you. I gotta know if you want me too.”

“Of course I do, Buck,” Steve says immediately, imploringly. “That’s not even a question. I’ll always want you. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh. “You ain’t gonna hurt me, ya punk. I don’t why I keep losin’ it ‘cause there’s no trigger I can think of, no bad memories or buried secrets. HYDRA’s full of zealots and sociopaths, but nobody bad touched me, Steve. I was a weapon, not a toy.” He runs one hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face in a gesture that usually means he’s at the end of his patience. “Much as it would suck, I would tell you if it was anything like that.”

The nonchalant way Bucky talks about his time as the Winter Soldier makes Steve sick, but he tries hard not to show it. “I never thought it was,” Steve lies. He’s not completely convinced that Bucky is telling the truth, but the depraved things he has imagined happening to Bucky never need to be spoken.

The way Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly suggests that he doesn’t believe Steve either. There’s a beat of tense silence while they face off over trying to protect each other, then Bucky sighs. “Closest I can figure is that it just short circuits me when I’m keyed up and you touch me. My body’s not used to anything that feels good ‘cause that wasn’t anything the asset needed to complete a mission. For as long as I can remember, there’s only been pain and fear, Steve. It was horrible, but there was a pattern I could at least recognize. Cryo, waking up, being programmed, completing a mission, then being wiped and stuck back in the ice. There wasn’t a whole lot of time for cuddling.”

Bile rises in Steve’s throat. “Do you have to joke about it?” he snaps, then immediately wishes he could take it back.

Bucky looks at him evenly then nods. “I kinda do, Steve. The whole thing is so fucking god awful that sometimes joking about it is the only thing that keeps me from losing my shit completely.”

Steve covers his face with his hand until he has himself under control. “I’m sorry. I know. The doctors told me that you need to deal with your own way. It’s just hard, Buck.”

“I know it is, Steve. That’s why I need this so bad. I need something that feels good to drown out all the shit, okay? If all this body is good for anymore is death and pain, I don’t know if I can live with that.”

There’s very little in the world Steve wouldn’t give Bucky if he could, so it takes less than a heartbeat for Steve to nod. He just hopes he doesn’t end up regretting it. “Okay. You know I’ll do anything to make you feel good, Buck. If this is what you need, if it takes strapping me down so I can’t do anything to mess it up, then I’m in.”

In a perfect world there wouldn't be any other obligations. Steve would be able to take the handcuffs and drag Bucky to his room for the rest of the day. The thought is extremely enticing and Steve is honest enough with himself to admit that's what he wants. He wants to wrap himself up in Bucky until nothing else exists.

Unfortunately, the world they live in is far from perfect. They both have demands on their time that mean they barely see each other the rest of the day. Even though Steve’s attention is taken up by meetings and training sessions, the handcuffs are in the back of this mind. He can't stop the flush of arousal that creeps over him when he thinks about Bucky snapping them around his wrists.

There is soft music playing when Steve walks in just before dinner time, something slow and soulful. There really isn’t any kind of music Bucky won’t listen to and Steve has realized that his choices are a good barometer for how he’s doing emotionally. Steve hopes that the sultry selection is a good sign.

He stops just inside the door and watches Bucky’s hips sway gently to the music as he moves around the kitchen, grating cheese into a salad and sliding fish out of a baking dish onto two plates. Another pair of skinny jeans, this time with cargo pockets lining the sides, hug his ass in a way that makes Steve want to skip dinner and drag Bucky straight to the bedroom. He silences the voice telling him that he’s just going to end up hurting Bucky even worse this time and clears his throat.

Bucky turns with a crooked grin, eyes settling on Steve’s face. The searching, haunted look in his eyes suggests that Steve isn’t the only one nervous about tonight going wrong. Steve gives him a soft, reassuring smile back.

“Thought we’d try something new tonight,” Bucky says, carrying the plates to the table, then returning to the kitchen for the salad bowl and tongs. He adds a seductive little twist to his hips as he moves. Steve tears his eyes away from Bucky's rear and glances toward the kitchen counter where the handcuffs still lay. Bucky tracks his gaze and raises his eyebrows. “Something else new,” he adds with a little smirk

“I, uh, sure. I like fish,” Steve manages to force out stupidly, already feeling a little lightheaded from all the blood rushing south. He’s just glad he makes it to the table without tripping over his own feet.

Bucky doesn't bother to hide his amusement, but he takes pity on Steve and stops teasing. The food is good and Bucky even seems to enjoy it, which makes Steve feel a lot better about where his emotions are today. If they’re going to try this again, Steve wants him in the best possible state of mind to start.

They swap stories about their day and when they’re both done eating, they wash the dishes and put them away. It’s their normal ritual to watch some television after dinner, so Steve isn’t surprised when Bucky asks, “Wanna put on a movie?”

Steve’s eyes flick to the handcuffs on the counter and back to Bucky’s face. He’s so keyed up that it would be torture sitting through a movie.

Bucky nods, then smiles slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. He reaches out and snags the cuffs, sliding them into the side cargo pocket of his pants. “Yeah, me either,” he says slyly. Steve doesn’t resist when Bucky takes his hand and leads him down the hallway.

Steve follows, barely allowing himself to breathe until they’re standing in the middle of Steve’s bedroom. Bucky presses himself to Steve’s body, a long, hard line of heat, and leans in to capture Steve’s mouth in a slow, wet kiss that steals whatever breath he’d been saving. Steve curls his hands into fists at his side, shaking with the urge to touch, but holding perfectly still as he allows Bucky to explore his mouth. The soft drag of Bucky’s tongue against his draws a soft groan, and after a few moments, Steve’s heart rate is ratcheted sky high. He barely processes when Bucky breaks away and steps back. He swipes his tongue across sensitive lips, savoring the taste of Bucky on his mouth.

Holding Steve’s gaze, Bucky reaches into his pocket and pulls out of the cuffs. “How do you wanna do this, Stevie?”

A shiver runs through Steve at the low, rasp of Bucky’s voice roughened with lust. “I, ah, I don’t know, Buck. Do you want me to take my clothes off first?” He drops his hands to the closure of his pants.

“Maybe just your shirt?” Bucky suggests, reaching out to knock Steve’s hands away. “Can’t get that off once you’re cuffed, but I can do the rest.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry at the thought of Bucky stripping him while he’s chained helplessly to the bed. Before the war, when he was still small and sickly, Bucky would undress him if he was too weak with pneumonia or bronchitis to do it himself. It was one of the few times Steve would willingly allow Bucky to take care of him and he secretly loved the feeling, though he would never feed Bucky’s ego at the time by admitting it.

“Yeah, uh, okay. Yeah,” he mutters, fingertips grabbing the bottom hem of the long sleeved fitted tee he’d pulled out of his closet this morning. He pulls it over his head, only breaking eye contact long enough to throw it toward the hamper. He feels suddenly self-conscious standing there in just his khaki slacks and socks, even though he’s been far more naked in front of Bucky more times than he can count.

“Look at you,” Bucky murmurs reverently, stepping forward to run the cool metal fingertips of his left hand down Steve’s chest, following the dips and ridges of his abs. Steve takes a shuddering breath when Bucky hooks his fingers into the waistband of Steve’s pants and uses the grip to pull him to the bed. Steve goes willingly when Bucky turns him and pushes lightly, letting his bulk fall backwards so that he’s splayed across the bed with Bucky standing between his legs. “Scoot up and put your hands by the headboard,” Bucky directly roughly.

Steve nods and swallows thickly before complying. He settles himself on the bed, reaching up the grip the heavy bars that curve to make up the head of the bed. He pulls a few times, testing the give of the metal. It’s strong, not even groaning when Steve puts a little more of his strength into it. Good. The last thing Steve needs is to explain to Tony how they broke the fancy, modern bed he’d furnished Steve’s apartment with.

There’s a dip in the mattress and Steve looks down just as Bucky starts to crawl up his body, legs straddling him. He stops with his knees splayed wide on either side of Steve’s chest and leans forward to thread the chain of the cuffs through the metal bars. He takes Steve’s hand and turns it up to press a feather-light kiss to his wrist before closing the cuff around it. The metal snapping home is the only sound in the bedroom besides their breathing.

Bucky repeats the ritual on the other arm, lips brushing gently across pulse points before fastening the cuff with a satisfying click. He swallows hard, breathing a little more shallowly than usual, then directs, “Pull on ‘em. Let’s see if they’ll hold, doll.”

Steve does as he’s told, yanking on the cuffs a little, but they don’t budge. It always gave Steve a strange little thrill in the pit of his stomach when Bucky called him doll, or sweetheart, or any of the other pet names he used for the girls he went around with before the war.  He has wondered at times if maybe he shouldn’t like it so much. After all, he’s not one of Bucky’s girls. But when Bucky looks at him like that, all soft and fond, he can’t bring himself to care.

Satisfied that Steve is secure, Bucky climbs off the bed, leaving Steve spread out like an offering. Steve has no doubt that he could break a pair of standard handcuffs if needed, but he doesn’t want to. Instead, he lays there quietly, waiting to see what Bucky needs from him. Bucky’s eyes drag over him like a caress, leaving his skin hot and tight. Minutes pass with Bucky still just looking his fill, until finally Steve grates out, “Jesus, Buck. You trying to kill me here?”  

Bucky doesn’t respond other than to give Steve a cocky grin. Instead, he rests on knee on the bed enough to lean in and begin to unfasten Steve’s pants. The occasional friction of Bucky’s hand grazing his dick through his pants is both exquisite and maddening. Steve tries to push his hips up to increase the likelihood of Bucky accidentally touching him, but Bucky uses his metal forearm across Steve’s stomach to hold him down. Bucky works slowly, then pulls his hands away long enough to grip the pants and underwear and begin tugging them down over Steve’s thighs. This time when Steve raises his hips, Bucky allows it, and within seconds, Steve is naked.  

Sitting back on his heels, Bucky rakes his gaze up and down Steve’s body, eyes lingering on Steve’s cock long enough that it gives a firm twitch. Bucky licks his lips and leans in slowly, his eyes flicking to Steve’s and back down to telegraph his intentions. Steve groans low in his throat and arches his hips up, but when Bucky finally presses his mouth to Steve’s flesh, it to the hot skin of his hip, not where he was hoping Bucky was heading. Steve tugs on the cuffs, relishing the sense of being helpless in the face of Bucky’s desire. “Please, Buck, come on,” he pleads, pressing his feet to the bed to give him enough leverage to twist his hips toward where Bucky’s tongue is tracing the deep vee of muscle from his hip to his groin.

Steve feels the curve of Bucky’s smile against his skin just before he raises his metal arm to push him flush against the bed again. “Patience, Stevie. I got ‘cha,” he whispers into the hair surrounding Steve’s straining cock. “Gonna be real nice to my baby, make ya feel real good.”

A high, needy whine is ripped from Steve’s throat when Bucky shifts to drag the flat of his tongue up Steve’s stomach and circle around first one nipple then the other. Releasing his hold on Steve’s hips, Bucky stretches out against Steve’s side and Steve’s breath hitches at the pressure of Bucky’s hard cock against his thigh, radiating heat even through his jeans.

Bucky threads one leg between Steve’s, hitching his knee up far enough that it brushes the underside of Steve’s balls before rolling his hips rhythmically, letting Steve feel his arousal. “You feel what you do to me, doll?” he murmurs against the sensitive skin of Steve’s throat. “Make me so hard for you. So pretty all stretched out for me; makes me wanna dirty you up.”

Memories roll over Steve, all the times that Bucky has done just that. Both before and during the war, Bucky always got off by coming on Steve’s stomach, his chest, even his face, then rubbing it in like he was marking Steve, making him Bucky’s forever. Here they are seventy years later, so Steve figures it must have worked. “Please, Buck. Do it, wanna feel you all over me.” Steve has never been above begging when they’re like this. Knowing what a thrill it gives Bucky to be in control has always been reason enough.

Another small smirk and then Bucky pushes himself away to stand next to the bed. Steve strains toward him and the cuffs make a small metallic squeak when he pulls a little harder than he intended, but they hold and prevent him from leaning up. Bucky just give a small pleased laugh. “Think you need some incentive, Stevie. Need to see what you been missin’?” Steve can’t find the words to agree over the buzz of arousal in his head, but Bucky doesn’t wait for his answer. Without looking away, Bucky pulls shirt over his head and drops it to the floor next to him.

The mass of scar tissue where the metal arm attaches to Bucky’s body grabs his attention for a second, then he pulls his eyes away to run them over the hard ridges of Bucky’s torso. This isn’t the first time since Bucky has been back that Steve has seen him without a shirt, but it’s the first time he has felt comfortable looking his fill. A fine trail of hair starts just above Bucky’s navel and disappears into his jeans where deft fingers are pushing down the zipper. Steve strains a little to keep his head up so that he can follow the slow slide of Bucky’s pants down his legs. He pulls in a sharp gasp, arousal spiking like a punch to the gut when he realizes Bucky isn’t wearing underwear under those jeans.

His eyes greedily devour every inch of Bucky’s body before coming to rest finally on the hard jut of his cock, fully aroused. Steve practically salivates at the thought of getting that length in his mouth. At one time, Bucky’s body was as familiar to him as his own and he’s anxious to see how many of the memories live up to the modern reality. “Come on, Buck. Get back over here,” he barks out, but what was meant to be stern and commanding just comes out pleading and desperate.

“No worries, sweetheart. I’ll get you there. Just gotta be patient.”

Bucky lowers his weight back to the bed beside Steve’s hip and leans in. Steve is sure that Bucky is going to tease him some more, so he’s caught by surprise when Bucky closes his lips over the head of Steve’s cock straight away. This time, when Steve’s hips buck upwards, Bucky doesn’t stop him. He just opens his mouth wider and relaxes his throat so that Steve can thrust up into his mouth, the tight, wet heat enveloping him and starting a buzz that travels up his spine from his balls to the base of his neck. “Fuck,” he bites out, trying to control himself so that he doesn’t hurt Bucky.

Pulling off with a wet, filthy slurp, Bucky licks his lips and turns his head to look up at Steve. “Jesus, Rogers. What would America think of the Captain using such foul language?”

Steve rolls his eyes and shifts his hips so that his dick brushes against Bucky’s cheek. “I’d imagine America would figure it was appropriate if they could feel the way you suck cock, Barnes,” he snipes back.

Bucky grins and leans in to swallow Steve down again. His tongue twists against the underside as he bobs his head, distracting Steve from the slide of his hand against his balls until he’s dipping down to press two fingers against Steve’s hole. Steve’s whole body jerks at the touch, his hips arching to shove his cock even deeper until Bucky pulls back with a wet gagging sound.

At the same time, Steve strains against the cuffs. Forgetting himself for a moment as he’s caught between the pleasure and fear that he hurt Bucky, the cuffs give a sharp screech as a warning before snapping at the chain connecting them. He’s reaching for Bucky, wanting to make sure he’s okay, before he finally registers the way Bucky has tensed and scooted away until he’s standing at the end of the bed.

Steve snaps upright as if he was doused with ice cold water, his lungs going tight with apprehension. He stares down at his hands, the cuffs dangling from each wrist. Too big, too strong, too dangerous. He looks up at Bucky, wide eyed and scared at what he’s going to find, but Bucky looks calm and only a little wary. “God, I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry,” he forces out, burying his face in his hands. Just one thing Bucky needed from him, and he couldn’t even give him that.

Bucky’s weight settles next to his foot, then a warm, firm hand circles his ankle and squeezes. “It’s okay, Steve. Nothin’ bad happened. I’m good, real good. You just broke the cuffs.” There’s a soft chuckle and Bucky’s hand splays higher on his calf. “Never did know your own strength, ya punk.”

Neither the words nor Bucky’s flippant tone do anything to reassure Steve. He shudders and pulls his hands away from his face, shifting to pull his leg out of Bucky’s grip. “I coulda hurt you.”

A small shrug. “I ain’t fragile, Steve. Never been, even before this,” he says, cocking his chin toward his metal shoulder. “’Sides, ain’t like I never liked it a little rough before. It’s no big deal. Now lay back and let me finish suckin’ ya off. I had a good rhythm goin’ there.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Bucky’s face then down to see that his arousal, unlike Steve’s, hasn’t waned at all. How can Bucky possibly still want to try? Does he think Steve will be mad at him for stopping? He shifts farther away and shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Buck.”

Bucky frowns. “So you broke the cuffs. Big deal. Not like we can’t still get off. This is the closest we’ve gotten without anything goin’ wrong, Steve.” He reaches for Steve’s leg again, but Steve turns so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed out of reach.

He looks at Bucky in disbelief. “Without anything going wrong? You needed me to control myself, Buck, and I couldn’t do it. You need to be able to trust me and I don’t really see how that’s possible when I can’t even trust myself.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath and adds softly, “I think we should call it a night.”

In a split second, Bucky goes from pleading disbelief to anger. His cool grey-blue eyes snap with frustration as he lets out a huff of breath and pushes himself up from the bed to pace the room. “What the fuck, Steve? Things were goin’ good. I’ve been thinkin’ about gettin’ my mouth on your dick for weeks and now that I finally got it, you’re tellin’ me we should call it a night?”

Steve sighs and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before looking up to meet Bucky’s eyes. “It’s not worth the risk.”

Bucky stops pacing and glares at Steve hard. “Jesus fucking Christ, Rogers. You are dumb as a box of fucking rocks. Who the fuck are you that you get to decide what’s worth the risk? I survived being brainwashed, tortured, and having this fucking hunk of metal grafted into my bones, but the great Captain America gets to decide what’s good for me? Steven Grant Rogers, savior of the fucking world, knows what’s worth the risk for me to get some of my own back?”

The words are like knives to Steve’s heart. Bucky has always known exactly what to say to cut Steve up the worst, and when he’s hurting his aim is even more deadly than usual. He knows that Bucky’s anger is getting the best of him, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Steve is just trying to do the right thing, trying not to add more damage on top of what his friend has already endured. Instead of rising to Bucky’s challenge, he lets his shoulders slump. “You’re angry, Buck. We should talk about this once we’ve both calmed down,” he offers evenly.

“Fuck you,” Bucky bites out, stomping to the door and yanking it open. His nakedness should detract somehow from the fearsomeness of his rage, but instead the rigidity of the muscles in his naked back make him seem even more lethal. “Go ahead and have your crisis of conscious or whatever, Rogers. I’ll be in my room jerkin’ off.”

Steve listens to Bucky’s heavy footsteps down the hallway to his room, but the expected slamming of the door never comes. Instead, it’s only a few moments before a low groan echoes down the hall, followed by a little grunt and Bucky’s gravelly voice muttering something Steve can’t quite catch. The sounds go straight to his cock, undoing the effects of Steve’s fear and panic when the cuffs snapped. It only takes a few more breathy curses and long, hitching moans before he’s achingly hard again. In a move of self-preservation, he gets up and shuts the bedroom door before dropping back onto the bed.

Not that it helps. Bucky pitches his voice louder and the next moan has Steve reaching for his own hard-on before he pulls his hand back with a grimace. If this is what Bucky needs, Steve isn’t going to begrudge him the release, but he doesn’t have to cheapen it by playing along.

“Ugh, yeah, come on, Stevie. Fuck me, yeah, feels so good.” The words are practically shouted, interspersed with grunts and moans and the sound of Bucky’s bed knocking against the wall. Against his will, Steve pictures what he looks like, spread out on his bed, naked and straining to shove his hard cock into his own fist. This time, when Steve reaches for his dick, he doesn’t stop himself.

Steve licks the palm of his hand a few times, then hisses at the first touch as he drags his hand up the length and circles his thumb across the head to gather the moisture there. He slicks it back down and tightens his grip to give himself a few firm, even strokes. In the other room, Bucky is amping up the pitch and intensity, providing a soundtrack right out of Steve’s most vivid fantasies. He allows himself one more moment of sick guilt before he closes his eyes and gives into it.

In Steve’s imagination, Bucky is still spread out naked on the bed and he’s dragging his flesh hand up and down his cock, his thumb tracing the veins that stand out from the length. Steve lets that fantasy play out for a moment before a dark, dirty little thrill has him switching the mental image so that Bucky’s metal hand is wrapped around his cock instead. He pictures it, the way the flushed skin of Bucky’s dick would look sliding through the cool metal fingers, while Bucky grates out a litany of dirty demands down the hallway. “Fuck me, Stevie. Yeah, come on, hold me down and make me take your cock. Want it so bad, doll. Need you to fill me up.”

Reaching up to roll one nipple between his fingers, Steve lets his legs fall open so that he can run his hand down his shaft to cup his balls, then circle back up to jack his cock with slightly faster strokes. He imagines Bucky’s mouth, the way his lips looked obscenely stretched around his dick, the heat and the warmth and how tight his throat was when Bucky swallowed around him. His own moans and panting breaths combine with Bucky’s. “Come on, Steve. Yeah, that’s it. Fuck yeah, gonna come, Stevie. Gonna come from you pounding my ass. Give it to me, doll.”

Steve’s hand moves faster and he reaches across his chest to pinch first one sensitive nipple then the other. He presses his thumb to the underside of his cock, just below the head and tightens his grip to hold his hand still so that he can thrust up into his fist, hips pumping like he really is fucking Bucky. It’s been so long since he’s felt the tight, silken heat of Bucky’s body, but the intensity of his memories makes it feel like it was just yesterday. He imagines holding Bucky down, sinking into him, and when Bucky gives a sharp yell from the other room, “That’s it, fuck, I’m coming, Steve,” Steve is helpless to stop himself from following Bucky over the edge. His cock pulses in his hand, covering his stomach with his release and sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him.

His breathing is still ragged when he reaches for the box of tissues on the nightstand and cleans himself up. The persistent ache in his balls that has been plaguing him for the past few days is gone, replaced by full-body languidness. He throws the dirty tissues into the wastebasket and slips under the covers, promising himself that he will shower first thing in the morning.

It’s early, but the emotional intensity of the past few days followed by a truly spectacular orgasm has Steve fading fast. Sleep is just starting to claim him when he hears Bucky call down the hallway, “G’night, Stevie.” Nausea and guilt make his stomach clench. Steve has only ever wanted to do the right thing. Why is it so hard to figure out what that is when it comes to Bucky?


	4. Chapter 4

Living in the tower hasn't taken as much getting used to as Steve was expecting. It's nice having the entire team close by and having access to JARVIS is more helpful than Steve could have imagined. Unless they manage to attract the ire of another demi-god or alien invasion, the tower serves as a secure, imminently defensible home base. It’s a fact that helps Steve sleep a little easier at night.

He liked his little apartment in D.C., but it wasn’t until he was fighting with Clint over the last danish in the communal kitchen that he realized how lonely he had been. He realized now that meeting Sam on the Mall that day, visiting him at the V.A., and even inviting him out for a cup of coffee was less about flirting with him and more an attempt to feel anything at all. Their relationship was forged in the battle surrounding the fall of SHIELD and Sam quickly became Steve’s closest friend. Although Sam is back in D.C., there is no doubt that if Steve or the Avengers need him he will drop everything and come to New York on a moment’s notice. Steve hasn’t had anyone in his life that he trusted like he trusts Sam in a long time. Not since Bucky.

Steve stretches his legs up to rest on the balcony banister. The tower didn’t have balconies originally. As the team wound down after a particularly hard mission just after the fall of SHIELD, Steve had told a story about the way he and Bucky would sit on the balcony of their tiny apartment and dream about seeing the world someday. Tony hadn’t commented, but construction had started two days later and within a week, Steve had his own little balcony. When he tried to thank Tony, the other man only shrugged and muttered something about it improving the aesthetics of the building.

Downing the last of his coffee, Steve looks out across the city and thinks about what to do next. There were a few moments of anxiety when he woke up this morning and realized that Bucky wasn’t in the apartment, but JARVIS calmly reminded him that Bucky had a scheduled therapy session on the medical floor. Steve doesn't know if Bucky talks to the therapists about him but if he does, he'll definitely have something to talk about today

With some distance, Steve can admit that maybe he overreacted. When the cuffs broke, all he could think about was protecting Bucky, but he never stopped to consider whether Bucky actually needed him to. Steve's over-protectiveness after his transformation was one of the few things that he and Bucky fought about during the war. Even after years of being sore at Bucky for trying to fight his battles for him, it didn't stop Steve from trying to do the same thing.

All Steve really wants is to give Bucky what he needs. If Bucky feels that returning to an intimate relationship will help him feel more like himself, more in control, then that's what Steve wants too. He's just not sure how to make that happen without making things worse. It seems like no matter what he does, Steve ends up hurting Bucky in one way or another.

Until the cuffs broke things were going so well too. Steve was more turned on than he'd been in years and Bucky seemed completely comfortable and relaxed. Seeing Bucky’s cocky smile and confident swagger after all this time was almost more arousing than Bucky’s touch. Even though he’s still apprehensive, Steve knows that he will do anything to see that side of Bucky again. He just needs to figure out how to keep himself under control long enough for Bucky to have free rein.

The thought keeps him preoccupied through a training session with Clint and a debriefing with Maria Hill concerning a situation they’ve been monitoring in the Middle East. Clint is oblivious to anything that doesn’t explode or allow him to fall off of buildings without dying, but Maria asks several times if he is okay. He must be doing a worse job than he thought of holding it together, because she goes so far as to offer to listen if he needs to talk. She reminds him of Peggy so much that he almost takes her up on it. It’s only the mortifying thought of talking to her about having sex with Bucky that stops him. She seems relieved when he politely turns her down, but he doesn’t hold that against her.

It isn’t until he’s in the elevator as it takes him back to his own floor that an idea strikes him. In fact, it’s the elevator itself that reminds him. “JARVIS, is Tony free?”

“Mr. Stark is in his lab, sir.”

Steve frowns. “Okay, but would I be interrupting?”

There is an almost imperceptible pause. “Dr. Banner is with him, but Mr. Stark has not eaten or slept in eighteen hours, sir.”

It shouldn’t be possible for a computer to project disapproval, but JARVIS has it down pat. His tone suggests that although Steve would be interrupting, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. “Okay,” Steve says carefully. “Go ahead and take me to the lab, but stop on the communal floor on the way down and I’ll grab him a sandwich.” It’s the least Steve can do when he’s about to take advantage of Tony’s mania by giving him another project.

“Of course, sir.” His voice hold gratitude for Steve’s consideration and Steve wonders if a computer has the capacity to worry about someone. Maybe JARVIS worries about all of them.

After a brief stop to put together a turkey sandwich and cut up an apple, Steve gets back on the elevator for the ride to Tony’s lab. He briefly considered taking Tony coffee as well, but he’s not about to risk Pepper’s wrath by breaking her _No Caffeine in the Lab_ rule. He grabbed a bottle of decaffeinated tea out of the refrigerator instead. If Bruce hasn’t been able to get Tony to take a break, Steve knows he won’t change that, so the best he can do is make sure that Tony eats. Steve spares a moment to wonder how Pepper does it.

When Steve walks up to the glass wall outside the lab, plate in one hand and drink in the other, he can feel the heavy bass from Tony’s music thumping in his chest. Steve’s minimal knowledge of classic rock comes from a brief conversation when Steve had asked what Tony was listening to, but he can’t say he has developed any appreciation for the wailing guitars. He’s almost certain that some of Bucky’s band t-shirts and and a few tracks on his iPod came from Tony, though neither would ever admit that they had been civil to each other long enough to talk about music. It’s a silly game that Steve doesn’t really have the energy to deal with.

Next to the work bench along the right side of the lab, Tony is waving his arms emphatically while Bruce studies a series of numbers being projected in the air in front of him. The entire space around them shimmers with formulas, video feeds, and a life-size schematic of Tony’s suit, while a line of blue dots glow on Tony’s forearms and up the back of his neck. Steve can see that he’s talking, but it doesn’t look like Bruce is even listening to him.

Steve stops and just watches them for a moment. Tony’s body is like a coiled spring made up of barely controlled potential energy and his Iron Maiden t-shirt pulls enticingly across his chest and biceps as he moves. He’s strong, but he’d have to be to create and control the Iron Man suits, and Steve isn’t ashamed to admit that he has admired the whipcord strength in Tony’s body more than once. After all, it only ever takes a few moments of admiration before Tony opens his mouth and ruins it.  

When he approaches the door, JARVIS unlocks it and a large section of the bullet-proof glass wall slides back to let him in. The music is almost deafening inside the lab. It’s no wonder Bruce isn’t listening; there’s no way he could hear over the wall of sound. Rather than announcing his presence, Steve walks up to the workbench to Tony’s right and sets the sandwich and tea in clear view. He leans back against the bench and crosses his arms to wait to be noticed.

Of course, Bruce notices Steve standing there long before Tony does. He raises one eyebrow and looks questioningly down at the sandwich. Steve shrugs and rolls his eyes in Tony’s direction, where he’s still talking incessantly and flinging the virtual data around by waving his arms. Maybe Steve should have brought a second sandwich for Bruce. He feels guilty for a moment before he remembers that unlike Tony, Bruce is a fully functioning adult who can handle feeding himself at regular intervals.

Steve watches Tony work, eyes drawn inexplicably to the bunch and pull of muscles under black cotton. He manipulates the images in the air with flicks of his wrists that almost seem delicate, though Steve knows full well that they aren't. Tony is a bundle of contradictions.

With a self-deprecating huff of laughter, Steve pulls his eyes away. Things with Bucky need to be sorted out sooner rather than later if Steve is standing around waxing poetic over Tony's wrists. He's so busy trying not to stare that he almost misses the way Tony throws the schematic of the suit hard enough in his direction that it explodes into pieces around him. Tony visibly startles when he sees Steve standing there.

Tony's mouth moves, clearly snarking something at Steve, but it's impossible to hear over the music. “Tony, I can't hear a,” Steve shouts just as Tony does something with his fingers that brings the volume down to almost nothing, “word you're saying.” The last words echo in the sudden silence.

“No need to yell, Cap,” Tony says with a smirk, then adds, “Lurk much?”

Steve rolls his eyes and ignores Tony's obvious attempt to bait him. “I wasn't lurking. I was standing right here in the open.”

“Back me up against Captain Creepy here,  buddy.” Tony flicks his eyes over to Bruce.

Bruce doesn't look up from the numbers he's studying, but his voice is dry with both fondness and exasperation. “He's been standing right there for five minutes.”

Steve nudges the sandwich forward as Tony swings back to him. “JARVIS said you haven’t eaten.”

“So you brought me a sandwich?” Tony retorts, eyes narrowed. “Taking this captaining thing a little seriously, aren’t you? We’re not actually your ducklings to take care of.” His protest doesn’t stop him from picking up the sandwich and taking huge bite before twisting the lid off the tea and washing it down.

Steve shrugs. “Someone has to. Especially with Pepper away. She’d be pretty irritated with us if she came back and we’d let you starve to death.”

Tony takes another bite and talks with his mouth full. “You know, Rogers, I was taking care of myself long before any of you stumbled into my life. Even before Pepper.”

“And you were just a few drinks short of liver disease or a heart attack, even before Afghanistan.” Bruce still doesn’t look away from whatever he’s working on and Steve bites back a smile.

Tony swallows the huge bite and throws him a dirty look. “How would you know? Before Afghanistan, you were stomping through Harlem as a giant rage monster.”

“Even rage monsters watch the news.”

Steve doesn’t bother to muffle his laugh this time. “As much as your continued well-being is an asset to the team, Tony, I didn’t come down here just to bring you a sandwich.”

“I figured that, Captain Obvious. I was just waiting for the socially appropriate time to bring it up.”

Bruce chuckles, finally leaning back from the images floating in front of him to glance over at them. “That’s completely you. Always socially appropriate.”

Tony shoves the last bite in his mouth and swallows it before putting up his middle finger in Bruce’s direction. “Shut up, you.” He turns to Steve and gestures with the tea bottle in his other hand. “You. Tell me what you want. Make it good, because you’re interrupting some very important work here.”

Bruce snorts, but gives Tony an innocent look when he turns to glare at him. Steve shakes his head and ignores them. “I was wondering if you could make something for me.”

“This better get a whole lot more interesting really fast or I’m going to have Dum-E esc—”

“Knock it off and let him talk,” Bruce breaks in, waving one hand in Steve’s direction.

Tony rolls his eyes but relents. “Fine, fine. Go on.”

Steve takes a fortifying breath and launches into it. “During the battle over Project Insight, Alexander Pierce sent STRIKE Team One to take me out. They had some kind of heavy metal cuffs that were magnetic. I need you to make me a pair, but strong enough to hold an enhanced individual because I broke out of those ones pretty easily.” He tries not to blush as he says it.

The way Tony stares at him is a little unnerving. “You want me to make you a pair of electromagnet cuffs that are strong enough to hold a super soldier?” Tony narrows his eyes again and studies Steve’s face.

Heat creeps up Steve’s neck.  “Yes,” he affirms, refusing to look away from Tony’s scrutiny.

“I thought Barnes was getting better? JARVIS hasn't reported a serious incident in weeks.”

That answers the question of whether JARVIS has been reporting the incidents the past couple nights to Tony.  Steve makes a mental note to thank JARVIS for his discretion. He steels himself and responds, “He has been. They're not for him. They need to be able to hold me.”

Tony is silent for an entire minute, which must be some kind of record, as he studies Steve’s face. Suddenly, he breaks out in a sly smirk. “You want me to make cuffs so you can get your freak on with Barnes, _Fifty Shades_ style?” he chortles. “Didn't know you were into bondage, Cap.”

Steve can't stop the heat that floods his cheeks. “You know what?  Never mind.” He turns toward the door.  “Forget I asked.”

“Tony.” Bruce layers censure and exasperation in that one word.

Before Steve can make it to the door, Tony throws himself in front of him,  one hand on his chest. “Wait, wait. Okay, fine. Sure, I can do that. Easy peasy. I have schematics from what JARVIS scooped up after Romanoff’s data dump, so it won't be hard to up the strength of the coil for the electromagnet.”

Steve studies his face for a moment.  It's clear that Tony wants to tease him mercilessly, but he's holding himself back. “Okay,” Steve responds tentatively.

Tony sighs. “Stop back before dinner. I'll have them done by then.”

Self-preservation has Steve escaping the lab as soon as he can. As much as he wants to make things right with Bucky, he’s not sure he can stand much more of Tony’s company. Facing him in the coming weeks is going to be hard enough, because he’s sure Tony isn’t just going to let this go.

Bucky still isn’t in the apartment when Steve makes it back, but there is a note on the counter telling him that Bucky is with Nat and won’t be back until later in the evening. Steve desperately wants to check on him, but he doesn’t want to hover so he settles for sending a text apologizing for overreacting. It’s a tense few minutes waiting for Bucky’s response. **_I know, babe. We’ll work it out._ ** It’s less than Steve wants, but it will have to be enough.

With no work to distract him, Steve contemplates how to get through the rest of the afternoon before he needs to head back to the lab. A solitary late lunch, an hour responding to fan mail, and two episodes of a documentary about space do nothing to take his mind off of Bucky, so Steve heads to the gym to work out some of his frustration. The training floor is empty, so Steve is able to get a punishing workout in without needing to talk to anyone about what is wrong. Just before five, Steve receives a text letting him know that Tony has the cuffs ready.

Bruce isn’t in the lab when Steve arrives, so there is no one to keep Tony in check. It says a lot about how much Steve is willing to do for Bucky that he is willing to subject himself to Tony’s teasing. After several minutes of innuendo and attempting to see how flustered he can make Steve, Tony finally relents and hands Steve the cuffs. It is likely that threatening to call Pepper might have something to do with Tony’s sudden acquiescence.

The cuffs are heavier than Steve was expecting and when Tony fastens his arm to the wall with one of them, not even putting his feet against the surface will give him enough leverage to pull free. “They’re a lot stronger than the ones SHIELD used,” Steve acknowledges, rubbing his wrist after Tony uses a small remote to disengage the cuff. “I pulled those ones off the wall of the elevator a lot easier.”

“That’s a story I don’t think I heard,” Tony says with a cock of his head. “You and Romanoff had all the fun in D.C., didn’t you?” He hops up on the workbench next to Steve and lets his feet dangle like a child, which seems especially fitting.

Packing the cuffs and the remote into a small carrying case, Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know that I would call running for our lives and almost being killed by my best-friend turned brainwashed cyborg assassin while fighting to save the world from HYDRA’s control fun, but yeah, it was an exciting few days,” he says dryly. “Maybe we could have a movie night and Natasha, Bucky, and I will do a dramatic reenactment.”

Tony lets out a pleased bark of laughter.  “Listen to that sass,” he exclaims, slapping Steve on the shoulder. “Barnes is a good influence on you. Next thing we know, you’ll be cursing and chasing skirts.”

“I’ve done both those things, Tony.”

“Lies and slander! Not Captain America, bastion of civic values and savior of little old ladies and kittens,” Tony retorts with mock indignation, putting the back of one hand against his forehead.

Steve gathers up the case and starts toward the door. “You’re an idiot, Tony, but thank you for this.”

Tony smiles genuinely for a second, then switches to his usual flippant smirk. “You’re welcome, Steven, but if you two decide you need a super-soldier sized vibrator, you’re on your own.”

Steve dips his head to hide his flushed cheeks and ignores Tony’s laughter as he heads back to the elevator. Inside, he directs JARVIS back to his and Bucky’s floor, then adds, “Can you let me know when Bucky heads back to the apartment?”

“Sergeant Barnes and Ms. Romanoff left the building a short while ago. Would you like me to inform you when they re-enter the tower, sir?”

He considers the time it takes to get from the ground floor to their apartment. “That would be perfect, JARVIS. Thanks.”

Back in the apartment, Steve goes straight to the bedroom and unpacks the cuffs. He activates one and attaches it to the headboard, then uses all of his strength to try to pull it off. It doesn’t budge and just as importantly, it doesn't bend the metal of the headboard. With his strength dispersed between two points and no leverage, both the cuffs and the headboard should hold with no problem.

Steve takes a quick shower while he waits, anxiety waring with arousal whenever he thinks about how tonight might go. He types out a text message to Bucky but doesn’t send it. Instead, he paces the apartment until JARVIS announces, “Sergeant Barnes is on his way to your floor, sir.”

Sprinting into the bedroom, Steve pushes send on his phone, delivering the text message he typed out earlier. **_Come straight to my bedroom when you get in. I have a surprise for you._ ** He turns off his phone before Bucky can respond.

Standing beside his bed, he strips quickly and ignores the awkwardness of being naked as he ensures the remote is on the nightstand. He activates the cuffs and attaches them a comfortable distance apart on the headboard, then lays down between them and fastens first one wrist and then the other.

An edge of panic creeps over him at the reality of being held immobile. It’s not an experience he’s had a lot of practice with lately. He’s gotten so used to being strong enough to break free of anything that tries to control him that intentionally placing himself at Bucky’s mercy gives him an odd thrill that goes beyond just wanting to protect Bucky from bad memories. His heart rate picks up and his body starts to respond in a way he wasn’t expecting, cocky slowly filling as he imagines Bucky touching him, taking him, and Steve having no way to stop him.

By the time the front door opens, Steve is hard and aching with arousal. He pictures Bucky moving through the apartment, sliding off his shoes and hanging up whatever jacket he wore out into the brisk fall afternoon. The anticipation of Bucky’s reaction just heightens his excitement. Steve is flushed and panting when Bucky finally steps into the room.

Even with his own blood thrumming in his ears, Steve hears Bucky’s swift intake of breath. His eyes immediately lock onto Steve’s, pupils dilating with lust, before he sweeps them down Steve’s bare body. Steve’s cock twitches when Bucky’s gaze lands on it, the movement dragging a shiny trail of precome across his stomach. His breath hitches when Bucky licks his lips and takes a few steps closer.

“Surprise,” Steve murmurs weakly, offering Bucky a shaky smile. His voice is already rough with desire.

Bucky continues to stare, his eyes dragging up and down Steve’s length. He rolls his bottom lip in, biting it as if he’s trying to control himself, then lets out a tremulous huff of breath. “Jesus Christ, Steve. Are you trying to kill me?”

Steve’s smile widens. “If I’m what you want, Buck, I’m yours. Completely yours.” He tugs on the cuffs to show that he can’t get away.

“Where? How?” Bucky sits hard on the edge of the bed and rests on hand on Steve’s bare calf. “You did this for me?”

“Only person in the world I’d do it for.”

Bucky’s smile lights up his eyes for a moment before he lunges forward, mouth claiming Steve’s in a bruising kiss. He stretches out along Steve’s body and even fully clothed, it feels amazing. The textures of Bucky’s clothing drag across Steve’s feverish skin and he bows up into it even as Bucky nips and bites at his lips until Steve opens to let Bucky lick into his mouth. He thrusts his tongue in and out a few times before breaking away. Steve leans up to follow, but the cuffs hold him back.

“Fuck, Stevie,” Bucky groans against his lips, then he drags his hot, wet mouth across Steve’s jaw to suck a bruise into the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder. “So fuckin’ good for me, doll. You have no idea how good you look all spread out for me. Like Christmas, New Year’s and my fuckin’  birthday all rolled into one.”

He pushes up so that he can crawl down Steve’s body, mouth leaving a trail of fire down Steve’s chest and abs. Steve yanks compulsively against the cuffs, reveling in the way they hold him without the slightest give. Bucky stops, mouth hovering over Steve’s cock and looks up at Steve with a wicked glint in his eyes before turning back to slide his mouth down Steve’s length. He keeps going until the head nudges the back of his throat in one long, hot slide. Even with the warning, Steve can’t stop the needy whine the pulled out of him by the sensation.

Steve flails, unable to stop himself from rocking his hips in tiny thrusts up into the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth even as he starts to bob his head. Bucky’s hair is loose tonight and the soft strands tickle his groin, sticking wetly in the puddle of saliva gathering at the base of his cock. He squeezes his eyes shut against the sight, the pleasure spiraling too high already. “Oh, god, Buck. Please, so good.”

As Bucky continues to work his dick with lips and tongue, he slides his metal hand down to cup Steve’s balls, then dips lower to press one blunt finger against Steve’s hole, making Steve twitch and keen softly in response. He pulls off Steve’s cock with a wet slurp and murmurs against Steve’s skin, “That okay, baby? Is it okay if I touch you with that hand?”

Remembering the way his fantasy had shifted, the heat that had flared up when he’d imagined Bucky jacking himself with his metal hand, Steve can only nod weakly. He moans wantonly and uses what little leverage he has to push himself harder against Bucky’s hand. “Please, Buck, please. Don’t make me come yet. Wanna feel you inside me when I come. It’s been so long since I’ve felt you.”

Bucky goes still, his fingers twitching against Steve’s hole, then lets out a ragged groan. He pulls his hand away, laughing softly at the way Steve cants his hips to maintain the contact as long as possible. “Hell yeah, doll,” he rasps, reaching out to pick up the bottle of lube Steve left on the bedside table. “You know I take care of my baby. That’s what I want too. Wanna feel you squeezin' me.” He shifts on the bed so that he’s laying across Steve’s hip, resting on his left arm so that he can coat the fingers of his flesh hand with lube. “Much as I’d like to watch you fuck yourself on that hard metal, it’s a bitch to get the joints clean. You’re gonna have to make due with one hundred percent Barnes tonight, dollface.”

There isn’t even a moment for Steve to gather enough thought to lodge a protest before Bucky is pressing one slick finger inside. Steve lets his legs fall open wider and plants his feet so that he can bear down, forcing Bucky to push inside faster. The slight burn sets Steve’s nerve endings on fire. “Easy, baby, easy,” Bucky murmurs, petting Steve’s hip with cool metal fingers as he pulls back then slowly, very slowly presses forward again. He moves gently, easing the way with one finger, then two. By the time he has three spreading and stretching Steve’s hole, Steve is writhing and moaning brokenly. God, he missed this so much. Even when he’d gotten the urge to try doing it to himself, it just never felt the same.  

He feels the bed shift and pries his eyes open to look down his body and see that Bucky has moved so he can sit up. He has his jeans open and is steadily stroking his own bare cock as he pumps his fingers into Steve’s body. “You’re wearin’ too many clothes, Buck,” Steve grates out teasingly. “You’re not even gonna take your pants off ‘fore you get in me?”  

Bucky chuckles, metal hand halting on his dick. “Bossy, bossy,” he snarks, ignoring the way Steve whines when he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets. He stands up and pushes his jeans down to step out of them, then pulls his long sleeved button-down over his head without bothering to unbutton it. He stops and lets Steve admire his body for a moment, before grinning again. “I don’t remember you bein’ this demanding in France.”

“I don’t remember you bein’ this big of a cocktease in France,” Steve retorts haughtily. He watches greedily as Bucky crawls between his spread legs and dumps out more lube to slick up his cock. Another taunt is on the tip of his tongue, but it’s lost as Bucky nudges his dick against Steve’s body and begins to very slowly press inside. Even with the prep, Steve relishes the burn as the head stretches his rim before it slips past the muscle. Bucky’s movements would be deceptively lazy if it wasn’t for the way Steve can feel his entire body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from just plunging inside.

Steve’s body adjusts to the hard length of Bucky’s cock more easily than he would have imagined after all this time and it is only a few moments before he bottoms out. He stops there, kneeling between Steve’s legs, his eyes locked on where they’re joined. It’s the only place they’re touching. Bucky’s eyes are wide and glassy, his breathing shallow, and he looks like he’s on the verge of being overwhelmed.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs and Bucky blinks, then focuses on Steve’s face. “I got ya, Buck. You’re here with me.”

Bucky swallows hard, then takes a ragged breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah, Stevie. I am.” He draws back, pulling out until just the head is still inside, then slowly pushes back in. Out again, faster this time, then back in with more force. Steve moans brokenly and shifts his hips to meet Bucky’s thrust.

Leaning forward, Bucky plants his hands on either side of Steve’s chest and gives a few more shallow thrusts. Steve’s eyes drift shut and he yanks weakly on the cuffs, torn between wanting to touch so badly it hurts and his entire focus being narrowed down to where Bucky moves inside him. Shifting again, Bucky stretches out so that his entire body is pressing Steve into the mattress as he rocks his hips, sliding both hands up Steve’s chest to his arms and continuing up to where his wrists are secured. There’s a soft metallic clinking noise and then Bucky curses softly.

Steve is so caught up in the slick, filthy drag of Bucky’s cock inside him that he doesn’t realize at first that Bucky has gone still. He shifts his hips to increase the pressure, but Bucky doesn’t pull back out for another thrust. As soon as he recognizes that Bucky has frozen, fear courses through him like ice water in his veins. His eyes snap open on Bucky’s face, terrified that he’ll see the blank, emotionless mask of the Winter Soldier staring back at him.

The expression in Bucky’s eyes isn’t blank or emotionless, though. As a matter of fact, he looks perturbed. “Ah, Steve? I think we’ve got a problem,” he mutters, his body shifting as he tugs on something above Steve’s head. The movement causes him to rock into Steve, drawing a low groan out of him.

Steve follows the line of Bucky’s metal arm up to his wrist and his eyes widen in shock. The back of Buck’s arm just above the wrist is stuck to the side of the magnetic cuff. Steve quickly bites the inside of his cheek, but it doesn’t stop the impetuous snort of laughter.

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “You think this is funny, Rogers? What the fuck?” He pulls harder, but his arm doesn’t even shift. “This is fucking stupid,” he snaps, glowering at the cuff. He braces his knees against the bed and pulls. It doesn’t release his arm, but it does drive his cock deeper into Steve, who grunts as Bucky nudges his prostate, sending shockwaves of pleasure through him.

With a reluctant sigh, Steve suggests, “Do you think maybe you could pull out? This feels a little weird.”

Tumultuous grey eyes snap down to his. “Do ya think? Christ, Steve, where the hell did you get these things?” He shifts his hips so that he slips out of Steve’s body and Steve tries not to groan at the loss.

“Tony made them.”

Now that he isn’t buried inside of Steve, he can plants his legs on the bed and use the leverage to pull. He gives his arm a good tug, but nothing happens. “Of-fucking-course. Had to be Stark. The bastard probably did it on purpose, fuckin’ cockblock,” Bucky snaps in frustration.

Steve glances sideways at the remote laying on the bedside table. “I know Tony can be annoying, but I highly doubt he would do something like this on purpose,” Steve offers. “Anyway, there’s a remote on the nightstand. Can you reach it?”

Bucky shifts sideways, his long hair brushing Steve’s face as he strains to see the remote. “I see it, but I don’t know if I can get to it.” He rolls, straining as far as he can, but isn’t able to reach. When he relaxes back against Steve’s body, he narrowly misses crushing Steve’s still maddeningly hard cock with his hip.

“Hey, watch it,” Steve barks. “I’d rather you didn’t snap that off.”

Shoving at Steve’s side with his knee, Bucky rolls his eyes. “Ain’t gonna break it off, but the way we’re goin’ it ain't’ like it matters. I’m never gonna get to enjoy the damn thing.”

Steve lets himself be moved to the edge of the bed as far as he can with his arms still pinned above his head, making room for Bucky to kneel on the bed beside him. He shifts so that his feet are flat against the headboard and pulls, barely masking a soft grunt of pain.

“Stop it if it hurts, you jerk,” Steve snipes, bumping Bucky’s leg with his forehead.

“If the damn thing wasn’t grafted right into my bones, I’d just rip it off.”

Steve grimaces, knowing that Bucky is serious. “You’re not going to rip your arm off, you idiot.”

“Well, much as I like bein’ bare-ass naked in bed with you, I sure as fuck ain’t gonna starve to death pinned to my own fuckin' bed,” he gripes, glaring at the cuff like he might be able burn a hole in it with the power of his mind. “Maybe I shoulda let Stark do some upgrades. A torch would be fuckin’ sweet right about now.”

“Or maybe you could reach the remote with your foot?” Steve offers, twisting his body so that he can see the remote laying not two feet away.

Bucky narrows his eyes and looks past Steve at the remote. The furrow between his eyebrows deepens, partially obscured by the way his mess of hair covers his face. “Fine, yeah, let me see. You move this way.”  Through a series of awkward moves that shoves Bucky’s knee into Steve’s abdomen, knocking the breath out of him, and a twist that causes their rapidly softening cocks to slide together, Steve ends up laying to Bucky’s left. Bucky stretches his body sideways on the bed so that he can press the heel of his foot against the remote and pull it toward them. “Almost got it, almost, almost, fuck!” Bucky swears loudly.

“What, what?” Steve yelps, straining to look past Bucky to see what happened.

The bed lurches when Bucky’s weight drops back against the mattress. “I lost it. The stupid thing fell into the space beside the bed. Just fucking great.” He breathes hard for a few moments, then starts tugging again. “That’s it. It’ll hurt like a son of a bitch, but it ain’t like Stark can’t stick a new one on,” he huffs, pressing his right hand against the headboard to give him leverage to pull.

He grunts in pain and Steve twists to wrap his legs around Bucky’s body. “Knock it the hell off,” he insists, using his legs to pin Bucky’s flesh hand against his side. His body is twisted up like a contortionist and he struggles against Bucky’s weight as he tries to break free. “Stop it, Buck. For fucks sake, would you stop?” He grunts when Bucky’s knee drives into the small of his back. “I’m not gonna let you pull your arm off, Bucky. Jesus, you’ll bleed to death before we can get help. Would you calm down and think for a second?”

There’s an awkward naked wrestling match that lasts a few minutes, until Bucky throws himself back against the bed  with a soft whine and stops fighting. Steve is breathing hard from the exertion. “This is ridiculous,” Bucky snaps, caught between pout and a glare. “The Winter Solider is a fucking legend, the most feared assassin in the last hundred years.”

Steve bites his lip and tries not to smile at Bucky’s petulant tone. “Well, the Winter Soldier may be a feared assassin, but Bucky Barnes is just a fuck-up from Brooklyn. Stuff like this happens to him all the time.”

For a second, it looks like Bucky is going to get angry again, but then he just sighs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, Star Spangled Man with a Plan, what’s your big idea to get us out of this one?”

“Sirs,” JARVIS’ voice echoes from the ceiling. “I don’t wish to intrude, but perhaps I could offer some assistance?”

Bucky and Steve turn to stare at each other, and then Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Can you get Natasha up here?”

“Nat?” Steve yelps. “We’re naked, Buck!”

“Pretty damn sure Nat’s seen a dick before, Rogers,” Bucky says with a flippant shrug. “Probably even seen yours. You ain’t all that modest when you’re changin' out of that skin tight suit after a mission.”

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve exclaims, clamping his eyes shut. “JARVIS, do not call Nat.”

“Ms. Romanoff is not in the tower in any case, sir. It would take her over an hour to return.”

Steve looks up and meets Bucky’s eyes. “So who is in the tower?”

“Both Dr. Banner and Mr. Barton have retired for the night, but Mr. Stark is in his lab, sir. All other non-security staff have left for the day. I can alert security to send assistance, but that will also notify Mr. Stark.”

Steve tries to imagine explaining this scene to a security team and shudders. “It’s gonna have to be Tony,” he says imploringly.

Bucky shakes his head, then reaches up with his free hand to push his hair out of his face. He looks away and when he looks back at Steve, his eyes are flat and empty. “Fine,” he snaps. “Send Stark, but I swear to god, if he gives us one bit of grief over this, they’ll never find the fuckin’ body.”

He curls up on his side facing away from Steve while they wait, but he can’t move far enough that they aren’t touching. Steve brushes Bucky’s back with his arm, desperately wishing he could do more, but Bucky shifts away. When Steve tries to talk to him, he’s adamantly silent. After Steve’s fifth answered question, Bucky barks, “Stevie, would you just shut the hell up, please?” Steve swallows around the tightness in his throat.

It’s hard for Steve not to ruminate while they wait for Tony. Is it too much to just want to be happy? Things have never been easy for them, but it was never this hard. Steve looks over at the back of Bucky’s head and swallows hard again. Maybe Bucky would be better off without him, since he can’t seem to stop hurting his friend. Bucky could move on and have a life. He blinks rapidly to keep the tears from welling up. Steve has been alone for so long that he’s holding on to Bucky just because he can and that doesn’t seem to be helping either of them. Steve’s Ma used to say that loving someone sometimes means letting them go so they can have the life you can’t give them. Maybe if Steve wasn’t so damn selfish, he’d be able to do that for Bucky.

The sound of the apartment door opening is muffled, but when Steve looks up, Tony is slouched against the door frame watching them with an amused expression. He’s still wearing the same Iron Maiden t-shirt and ratty jeans as earlier, but his hair is slicked back as if it was recently wet. He pulls a handful of something from the foil package he’s holding and dumps it into his mouth, grinning as he chews and swallows. “Not exactly how I imagined this going,” he says, motioning toward them with the bag. The smell of blueberries fills the room. “Not that I’ve been sitting in the lab all evening imaging you two doing the horizontal mambo, because Bruce tells me that would be inappropriate.”

Steve tenses when Bucky lets out a soft growl. “Tony,” he says warningly. “Now really isn’t the time for jokes. Can you just get the remote? It fell beside the bed.” He motions into the space with his head, then glances over at Bucky, who is studiously ignoring them.

Tony shrugs and pulls another handful of blueberries out of the bag as he approaches the bed, munching contentedly. He stops next to the bed but instead of reaching for the remote, he runs his gaze appreciatively down Steve’s body. Steve fights back the blush that threatens when Tony’s eyes widen slightly as they pause on his now soft cock. Tony’s eyes snap up to his and he lifts his eyebrows, then winks. With apprehension, Steve glances over at Bucky, but his back is still turned so he’s blissfully oblivious to the interaction, which is probably best for all of them.

Reaching into the space between the bed and the nightstand, Tony comes up with the remote and Steve sighs in relief at the small click that signals the locks disengaging. He turns and grabs both cuffs just as Tony turns off the electromagnets and the cuffs release from the headboard, allowing Bucky’s arm to fall away onto the mattress. He doesn’t turn or acknowledge that he’s free in any way and Steve’s stomach clenches.

“You know, I didn’t do that on purpose. You didn’t give me a whole lot of time to work or to run any tests. These are really just a prototype, so performance issues are to be expected,” Tony mutters, eyes flicking down to where Steve’s groin is still exposed then back up with a grin. “Not that there are performance issues. I’m just saying, I can’t be held responsible when an untested prototype doesn’t—”

“Tony,” Steve snaps. The muscles of Bucky’s back tense a little more with each word to the point that he’s vibrating like a bow string with the effort of holding himself back. “Can you just go? Please?” Steve looks pointedly over to where Bucky is still curled in on himself and back to Tony, hoping that he’ll get the message.

For once, Tony relents. He nods once and starts to back toward the door. “Sure, sure, call Barton or Romanoff if you need anything else, because I’m about to go sleep the sleep of a guy who’s been awake for almost thirty-two hours.”

Just before Tony disappears around the corner, Steve calls out, “Thank you, Tony.” He hopes his eyes say all the things he can’t say in front of Bucky. Tony pauses then dips his head in acknowledgment and is gone.

Steve turns back to where Bucky is still curled up on the far edge of the bed. “Hey, Buck, he’s gone. Come on,” he murmurs, hand hovering above Bucky’s bare hip. He waits, holding his breath, until Bucky rolls onto his back and flings his flesh arm over his eyes.

“This fucking sucks,” he mumbles. Bucky sounds tired, emotionally worn out.

Steve’s chest hurts. He did that. His selfishness made Bucky feel that way. To keep himself from touching, from making it worse, Steve rolls off the edge of the bed and starts to pull his clothes back on. He’s tugging his t-shirt over his head when Bucky pulls his arm away and looks up.

“What are you doing?”

Steve frowns. “What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m getting dressed.” He walks over to the far corner, as far away as he can get without leaving the room, and slumps into the desk chair there.

Bucky rolls onto his side and props himself up with one arm so that he can look at Steve. “I can see that. I can also see you sittin’ clear over there. Whatever dumb shit you got rattlin’ around in your brain now, you can knock it right off. This was just stupid fuckin’ luck, Steve. It don’t mean anything.”

If only that were true. Maybe if they really were just two boys from Brooklyn, the way they used to be, Steve could brush this off. He could laugh at this whole comedy of errors. But they’re not, or at least they’re not just those boys anymore. Every move Steve makes has a major impact on Bucky’s recovery and he needs those moves to perfect. He doesn’t deserve anything less.

Steve doesn’t know how to explain that, how to make Bucky see that he shouldn’t have to suffer through Steve’s fumbles. He opens his mouth and no matter what he thinks he should say, regardless of how much he wishes he had the right words, he knows without a doubt that what comes out is definitely the wrong ones. He can see it by the way Bucky’s expression closes down. “I think you should let Tony give you your own place.”

The words hang in the air between them, like one of Clint’s arrows that hasn’t found it’s target yet and they’re just waiting for it to explode. Although his eyes are hard, Bucky’s voice is deceptively calm when he says, “You kickin’ me out?”

Steve winces at everything those words don’t say. “I don’t think being here, being around me, is good for you. I think it would be better if you had your own space where you didn’t have be whatever it is you think I want you to be.” Every part of him wants to refute the words. His chest hasn’t hurt this much since he took his last breath before Dr. Erskine’s formula transformed him. Even the cold weight of grief he felt after Bucky fell didn’t hurt like this. It didn’t feel like he was ripping his own heart out with his bare hands.

Bucky stares at him. His eyes are cold and emotionless, but not with the blank look of the Winter Soldier. No, this expression is one hundred percent Bucky. It’s the look he gets when he’s hurt, but he refuses to show it. The past nineteen months have been filled with fear, pain, grief, horror, panic, and dread, but Steve hasn’t seen Bucky look like this since 1944, when he walked in on Steve kissing Peggy in the USO tent. It kills Steve to know that he’s responsible for it.

He watches while Bucky silently gathers up his clothes, pulling jeans back on and shoving his arms back into his shirt. He doesn’t move when Bucky walks out of the bedroom, nor when he hears Bucky stop to pull his heavy combat boots out of the closet. He’s still sitting in the desk chair, fighting back tears, when the front door closes.


	5. Chapter 5

Silence isn’t golden. It isn’t silver or teal or any other color of the rainbow. It’s just a bleak yawning emptiness in the apartment where Bucky should be. Steve doesn’t have to search for Bucky, doesn’t have to worry about whether or not he’s in his room or curled up under the kitchen sink because he knows that Bucky never came home last night. He sat on the couch and stared at the door for hours, but it never opened.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Bucky is more and more like the man Steve remembers every day, and this reaction is one that he’s very familiar with. Living in each other’s pockets the way they had since they were kids, Steve is used to Bucky avoiding him after a fight. No matter how long Bucky stayed away, though, Steve never felt like it was an ending. He never worried that Bucky wouldn’t come back or that it was something they couldn’t fix.

Steve stumbles through a makeshift breakfast of too many cups of coffee and not much of anything else, too distracted to cook. Though it’s killing him not knowing where Bucky is, he doesn’t try to call or ask JARVIS. The last thing Bucky needs is Steve hovering. He’s just going to trust that Bucky will come back when he’s ready, even if it’s just to move his things out. The thought is like a punch to the chest.

It’s not as if Steve actually wants Bucky to move out. He likes having Bucky close by, likes seeing him every day and talking to him and touching him when he can. But maybe that’s the problem. As much as Steve tries to convince himself that he wants what is best for Bucky, every move he makes is based on what Steve wants. Maybe it’s time to step back and stop putting himself first.

There’s still coffee left in the pot, so Steve heads back to the kitchen for a fourth cup. If Bucky really isn’t going to be living here anymore, Steve will have to get used to only making a half pot again. There’s really no reason he needs to drink a whole pot of coffee by himself since the caffeine has no more effect on him than alcohol does, but there’s something comforting about the routine.

“Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner request the presence of yourself and Sergeant Barnes in Mr. Stark’s lab.”

Steve glances around the empty room. “Is there a problem?”

“Mr. Stark implied that it is not an emergency, sir, but that it is important.”

Considering that Tony’s gauge of what should be considered important could range from someone putting coffee grounds in the food disposal to world-wide annihilation by an alien invasion, that information really isn’t helpful. “Is Bucky in the tower?” Steve asks instead of trying to get more details.

There’s an almost imperceptible pause that tells Steve that either JARVIS isn’t sure of the answer or Bucky told him not to disclose his whereabouts. “Sergeant Barnes left the tower early this morning, sir. I cannot locate him through standard means because he has turned off his phone. If needed, I can determine his location by utilizing information networks that Mr. Stark would prefer I not disclose.”

Steve isn’t entirely sure that he believes the AI, but he is also sure he doesn’t want to know anything more about these information networks that Tony has access to. “No, it’s okay. I’ll head down now and if they still need to talk to him, they’ll just have to wait until he comes back.” Not if he comes back; Steve doesn’t let himself even think it.

The music in Tony’s lab is at a manageable volume when he arrives, so Steve assumes that whatever Tony wants to tell him really is important. There are computerized images floating in the air around him, but Steve isn’t sure what they are. They don’t look anything like schematics for his suit or any of the team’s weapons or gear.

Tony looks up immediately when the glass door slides back, focus tripping over Steve to look behind him. “Where’s Robocop? We kind of need him for this.”

“I thought I asked you not to call him that?” Steve retorts, narrowing his eyes and putting a little more Captain into his voice than he normally uses outside of a mission.

Tony shrugs. “You say a lot of things. I can’t really be expected to listen to them all.”

Before Steve’s already tenuous temper can snap, Bruce steps between them and hold up both hands. “This actually involves Bucky, so it would be best if he were here.”

Steve tears his glare away from Tony and he softens when he focuses on Bruce. He sighs softly before admitting, “I don’t know where he is. He left the apartment last night and he hasn’t been back. JARVIS said he turned his phone off.”

Tony frowns, flicking his fingers in the air to pull up what looks like a satellite image of Manhattan. “JARVIS can track hi—”

“No,” Steve cuts in firmly. “He’ll come back when he’s ready. We’re not tracking him down like a target.”

“Less than two years ago, you asked me to do exactly that.”

There’s a tense silence and then Steve points out, “A lot has changed in two years.” Two years ago, Bucky had just left him laying on the bank of the Potomac and disappeared into the cold. That’s a far cry from the man who was in Steve’s bed last night.

“Boy howdy, have they,” Tony says with a brief raising of his eyebrows, eyes flicking down to Steve’s crotch and back up to his face. “I’ve seen things I can’t unsee.”

“Tony,” Steve barks to hide the way his face flushes. “Did you ask me down here just to annoy me or are you going to tell me what you want?” He’s not sure he can tolerate a round of Tony’s teasing right now, especially with his fight with Bucky being so fresh.

Whether Tony is feeling particularly generous today or he can read something in Steve’s face, he just nods instead of pressing the joke. His eyes flick to Bruce’s and when Steve follows his gaze, Bruce purses his lips. When Bruce looks worried about something, it’s never a good sign. “Yeah, okay,” Tony relents. He makes a few changes to the images in front of him, sending the satellite image away and pulling up what looks like a human brain made out of a tangle of glowing lines. “As part of the tower’s security system, JARVIS monitors certain vital signs of the occupants, like heart rate and perspiration. Using a behavioral heuristic that Bruce and I designed, he’s able to predict whether individuals are a threat or in need of medical help based on that data.” He shrugs. “Given who we’ve got living here, we figured it was a good idea.”

“Okay?” Steve has a feeling he knows where this is going. So much for JARVIS not cuing Tony in that something has been going on with Bucky.

Tony looks at Bruce again, but Bruce just signals for him to go ahead. “Anyway, after the little, um, incident last night, J brought it to my attention that something was off about Barnes’ data.”

Steve looks between them. “Off?”

Bruce takes over. “JARVIS mentioned that there have been several incidents this week in which Bucky was agitated after, ah, intimate activity. When comparing those data points to the ones he gathered last night, there were some discrepancies. We think that Bucky’s agitation might not be PTSD related, but an actual physiological response.”

It doesn’t take much for Steve to connect the dots. “So you think HYDRA did something to him, physically, that is causing these episodes?”

Tony clears his throat and has the unusual decency to look slightly embarrassed when he says, “It is possible that HYDRA might have rewired the way his body processes sexual arousal.”  Then he grins wolfishly. “So, it’s not just your rusty technique that’s pushing him over the edge.”

Steve sighs and ignores him, looking at Bruce instead. “So what do we do?”

“We need Bucky to let us run some tests.”

The initial impulse is for Steve to say no. Watching Bucky go through the months of tests when he first came back had been torture for Steve. Though Bucky never complained about being poked and prodded by doctors and therapists, Steve could read the anxiety in his tight, drawn expression and the way his hands shook afterward. He has no desire to put Bucky through that again.

Regardless of Steve’s feelings on the subject, though, he knows that it really isn’t up to him. Bucky has a right to make the decision on his own. As much as Steve would like to protect him, he isn’t Bucky’s keeper. Though his chest hurts, he swallows hard and nods. “Go ahead and find him, Tony. I’ll go talk to him.”

Given Tony’s usual technological wizardry, it takes him longer than Steve expects to find Bucky. When Tony finally tracks him down, though, Steve isn’t really surprised to find that he’s in Central Park. Although they were more likely to head to Coney Island when they had a day free together, Bucky had always loved the fountain there, so they made the trip across the river into Manhattan several times in in the years after Steve’s ma died. Bucky would splash the water from the fountain on Steve and joke that maybe the Angel of the Water would heal him. Looking back, Steve isn’t so sure that it was a joke as much as a wish. In the end, the Angel came in the form of an elderly German scientist.

Despite the crisp chill in the fall air, the terrace is filled with people, but it doesn’t take Steve long to spot Bucky. From the upper deck, he can see the other man sitting on the wall of the fountain. His back is to Steve as he stares out across the lake, but he speaks without turning around when Steve is still a few feet away, as if he’d known Steve was there all along. “Stark got some kinda tracker on me?”

Steve sits on the cold concrete next to him and shakes his head, though Bucky still isn’t looking at him. “I’m not gonna pretend to know how Tony finds out any of the things he knows.”

Bucky turns and meets Steve’s eyes. He looks tired. “I was comin’ back, y’know. I wasn’t gonna disappear again.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve insists. “I know. I only came to find you because your phone is off and Tony and Bruce need to talk to you.”

Bucky raises one eyebrow and waits.

Steve has been wrestling with how to explain to Bucky what Tony and Bruce told him the entire way to the park, but he hasn’t come up with anything, so he just opens his mouth and hopes for the best. “They think they can fix what’s been going on.”

As soon as Bucky’s eyes narrow, Steve knows he messed up. “I ain’t broke, Steve. I don’t need fixed.”

“That’s not what I meant. Buck, come on. I just... they think there might be something HYDRA did to you messing with how your body reacts when we, ah, well—” He breaks off and glances around to see whether anyone is close enough to hear, then finishes more softly while fighting back a blush. “—when we get intimate.”

Bucky stares at him for a few uncomfortable seconds. “Something HYDRA did physically, not just fucking up my head?”

“Yeah, they think they might have done something that rewired the way you process, ah, sexual arousal, but they need to do some tests. I don’t know what all they need to do, but I can guess it probably won’t be pleasant.” Although Steve wants to lower his eyes, he forces himself to stay steady and meet Bucky’s gaze.

More silence, but at least it looks like Bucky is actually thinking about what Steve said. He looks away to stare out over Turtle Lake, then says suddenly, “You still want me to move out?”

Steve’s chest aches. “I just want what’s best for you, Buck. I’m just not sure I’m that.”

Bucky shakes his head wearily. “You’re a dumb ass,” he says, but there’s no venom behind his words. He continues before Steve can lodge a complaint. “Until three weeks ago, I haven’t gotten hard in almost seventy years. I remember bein’ with dames, fuckin’ around with you, but it was like it was a movie I saw. Even when I tried to think about it, tried to get it up, I couldn’t feel anything. Like my dick just up and died on me. Not only did they fuck with my head and turn my body into a weapon, they broke me.”

He runs his flesh hand down over his face and turns to look at Steve. “The morning after you kissed me, I was in the shower and I started thinkin’ about it. I knew we’d messed around before and I was tryin’ to remember what it felt like. I started thinkin’ about you kissin’ me and it just happened. I replayed that moment, you kissin’ me and what it felt like, over and over again, and I got hard. I got off for the first time since the war thinkin’ about nothin’ but you kissin’ me. Figured maybe I ain’t so broke after all.”

Very tentatively, waiting for Bucky to push him away, Steve lays his hand on Bucky’s knee. “You’re not broke, Buck. Maybe dinged up a little, but so’s the rest of us.”

Bucky looks down at Steve’s hand for several moments, then covers it with his metal one and squeezes lightly. “Guess we make quite the team,” he says with a harsh laugh.

“The Commandos weren’t exactly top specimens,” Steve adds with a gentle laugh, “so we’re in good company.” He waits for Bucky to give a small smile, then asks, “Are you gonna let Tony and Bruce poke and prod you?”

“Can’t be worse than HYDRA,” Bucky responds with a shrug.

“That’s a shitty way to look at it.”

Another small shrug. “Don’t mean it ain’t the truth.”

Steve doesn’t have a response for that, so he just nods and texts Tony that they’re on their way. They take their time walking back to the tower in silence. Steve desperately wants to reach old and hold Bucky’s hand, but all of his doubts stop him. Instead, he settles for walking close enough that the backs of their hands brush every couple of steps.

As soon as they step into the elevator on the ground floor, JARVIS redirects them to the medical floor instead of Tony’s lab. Though Bucky doesn’t say anything, Steve feels the other man’s body go tense. He rhythmically opens and closes his fists, making the servos in his metal arm whine. Steve isn’t sure whether the medical floor reminds him of the first couple months at the hospital after he came back, or whether he still thinks about HYDRA, but he has to know that Steve would never let anyone hurt him. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Buck,” Steve says softly.

Bucky stops moving and flicks his eyes up to Steve’s face. “I know that,” he says with enough force that Steve just nods and looks away. It isn’t worth getting into a fight over.

When the elevator opens, an unfamiliar woman in a crisp white lab coat directs them to Bruce’s lab. Even though Steve has a vague memory of where it is from his previous visits, he has a hard time navigating the almost identical plain white hallways.

“It’s this way,” Bucky grunts, turning left where Steve would have turned right.

Steve pauses and looks back the other direction. “Are you sure?” he asks with a frown. He could have sworn it was right.

Bucky doesn’t slow down, just tosses the words over his shoulder. “Of course I’m sure. Been down here enough times.”

That has Steve stopping completely. He ignores Bucky’s scowl when he finally turns around. “When have you been down here?”

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence while Bucky stares at him, until he finally admits, “Bruce has been runnin’ some other tests. Stuff about my reflexes and how the metal arm reacts to different kinds of input.”

It takes a moment for Bucky’s words to register, then a white hot rage boils up in Steve’s gut. “Experiments,” he bites out. “They’ve been doin’ experiments on you? And you just let them? Jesus, Buck, you’re not a lab rat. They got no right!” Steve’s voice rises to almost a yell and it’s only years of monitoring his own strength that keeps him from putting his hand right through the drywall when he slams it against the wall.

Bucky looks with wide eyes from Steve’s face to the place where the plaster is slightly dimpled around Steve’s hand. “They’re not doin’ anything that hurts. Just information Stark needs if I let him upgrade the arm.”

Steve pulls his hand back and crosses his arms across his chest. “You’re letting Tony upgrade your arm?”

“If,” Bucky barks. “If I let him upgrade the arm.” He flexes his metal hand a few times and Steve notices how some of the plates don’t align quite as smoothly as they used to. “Haven’t decided yet whether it’s worth lettin’ Stark near me with a soldering iron.”

The fact that Bucky has been doing this behind his back, that he didn’t feel comfortable telling Steve about it, eats at Steve. “I still don’t like them doing experiments on you without—”

“Without what?” Bucky snaps, blue eyes gone ice cold. “Without askin’ for your permission?”

Steve wouldn’t quite have worded it that way, but it’s close enough. He has a sinking feeling he’s about to make matters worse no matter how he responds, so he clenches his jaw shut on what he’d been about to say.

As usual, Bucky can read Steve like a book and he doesn’t like the storyline. “I’m not your pet and I don’t need you makin’ decisions for me, Rogers. I can decide what Bruce and Stark can do to me with no say from anyone else, even you. It’s a damn sight more than I had with HYDRA.”

Bucky comparing the tests Tony and Bruce are running to HYDRA’s treatment of him makes Steve’s blood run cold. There’s so much he doesn’t know about what was done to his friend and he’s been handling it by adamantly refusing to talk about. In the end, it doesn’t seem to matter what Steve says or does, because it’s nowhere near what Bucky needs. “Buck, I just—”

“No,” Bucky cut him off, lifting his metal arm to press the palm of his hand to Steve’s chest to keep him from advancing. “You can just go home. I don’t need a guard dog or a nurse maid, so there’s no reason for you to be there. Just go home.”

“But, Bucky—”

“Go home, Steve,” he repeats. His voice is cold, but with an edge of anger that makes Steve think that maybe Bucky wants him to push so that he’ll have a reason to throw a punch.

Although every instinct in his body is screaming, Steve settles for giving Bucky a sharp nod before turning back the way they came. The walk back to the elevator is frustrating. He wants to go back and argue, to tell Bucky that he is only trying to do the right thing, but he knows Bucky doesn’t want to hear it. He needs to stop and ask for directions twice even though he knows the way and is so preoccupied that he is startled by JARVIS voice. “You have arrived on your floor, sir. Would you prefer to be taken to another location?”

Steve blinks and looks around. The elevator door is open on the familiar hallway outside his apartment. “No, ah, thank you, JARVIS. I’m just a little distracted today.”

There’s a small pause, then, “Indeed, sir. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Only if you can tell me what I’m doing wrong, Steve almost says. Instead he just steps out of the elevator and places his palm on the biometric plate beside the apartment door. “There really isn’t anything you can do, but thanks for asking.” He waits for the panel to light up green, then pushes the door open.

“Of course, Captain Rogers. Let me know if I can be of assistance.”

The door closes with a soft thud behind him. The apartment, which takes up almost the entire floor of the tower, stretches out in front of him in silence. Steve remembers those months that he lived by himself, first in D.C. and then at the tower before finding Bucky. Lonely doesn’t even seem like a big enough word to encompass the way Steve felt.

Waking up to find that everything and everyone he’d ever known was nothing but a few pages in a history book and an invasive exhibit at the Smithsonian was harder than anything he’d ever done. Even finding out that Peggy was still alive did nothing to fill in the hole inside him. As much as he wants her to be, this Peggy isn’t really his Peggy. She lived her life and went on to have experiences that shaped her into a different person, a person Steve doesn’t know anymore. Holding on to her feels like holding on to a ghost.

Steve drops onto the couch and lets his head tip back. Maybe that’s the problem. As much as Bucky might seem like his Bucky sometimes, at other times it’s like living with the ghost of his best friend. Holding on to Bucky is the only thing that keeps Steve going some days, but maybe that stranglehold is suffocating Bucky. As hard as it would be to go back to waking up alone in this apartment every day, if that’s what Bucky needs, that is what Steve will give him.

Although Steve is sure Bucky meant his revelation about his sex drive to reassure Steve, it really just raised more doubts. Is it that Bucky really wants Steve, or is he so desperate to feel anything that he’s focusing on the person who is available? As great as it is that Steve kissing him let him have some kind of breakthrough, there’s no way to know whether Bucky might not experience those same feelings with someone else. With Steve in the picture, though, Bucky will never find out. Keeping him here limits his options and feels like just another way to control Bucky, something Steve is terrified of doing.

It’s twilight when the front door of the apartment opens. Steve doesn’t remember the hours passing, but the dull ache of hunger in the pit of his stomach tells him that he’s been sitting there for far longer than he thought. He blinks blearily at the two shapes standing a few feet away, their forms silhouetted by the night-light glowing in the kitchen, and reaches to the side to turn on the lamp. It is a perfect match to the one Bucky destroyed and Steve has no idea where it even came from.

In the glow of the light, the shapes coalesce into Bucky and Bruce. Bucky looks worn out, his face drawn and pale, and his hair a tangle around his face. The effect is eerily reminiscent of the way Bucky looked during those first few months after he moved out of the hospital into Steve’s apartment. Bruce stands awkwardly just behind him, hands shoved in the pockets of his brown corduroy jacket.

“Did you eat dinner?” Bucky asks, eyes skating over Steve’s rumpled clothing and settling on his face.

Steve’s eyes dart to Bruce, then back to Bucky and he shakes his head, not really trusting his voice. There’s so many things he wants to say, but fear keeps him silent.

Posture rigid despite the exhaustion etched on his face, Bucky studies him for long moment, then shrugs as if the answer doesn’t matter to him at all. He turns to Bruce. “We’ve got leftover chicken parm if you want to have dinner while you explain.”

Bruce shakes his head. “I think I’ll just say my bit and leave you to it,” he responds sheepishly, taking a step to the side. “I’d point out that it looks like you two have a lot to talk about, but I don’t want to get punched.”

Bucky crosses his arms across his chest, expression impassive, and Steve’s stomach clenches. It wasn’t often that Bucky got angry enough to hold a grudge, but when he did he could outlast any apology Steve threw at him. Bucky nods, pointedly looking away from Steve, then gestures Bruce to a chair before walking over to the balcony door to stare out across the city.

“Well,” Bruce starts, settling into the comfortable, generously cushioned chair across from the couch, “the short story is that Bucky’s nervous and endocrine systems have been hijacked.”

Steve nods, even though he has no idea what Bruce is talking about. If they have come up with something that helps Bucky, Steve doesn’t need to understand it.

“The sympathetic nervous system is what accounts for the adrenaline rush you get before battle,” Bruce continues, leaning in so that he pulls Steve’s attention from Bucky. “Part of what Erskine’s serum did was change the way your body processes stress hormones, Steve. Your body is able to harness these chemicals, such as corticotropin and catecholamines, to heighten your senses and decrease your fatigue with none of the negative effects of long term exposure.”

“So I can stay focused and fight harder than other people without the battle fatigue that comes after?”

“Exactly,” Bruce says with a small smile. “Battle fatigue is a lay term for the way the average soldier’s body reacts to long term activation of alpha-adrenergic receptors. You don’t experience that.”

Steve nods in understanding. “Okay, so what does that have to do with Bucky?” He glances up at his friend, who is staring blankly out the window as if the conversation doesn’t concern him. Steve bites back a sigh.

“While most people think of the sympathetic nervous only in terms of the fight or flight, it is also what controls the physical reaction of sexual arousal. Bucky’s nervous system still functions using epinephrine, norepinephrine, and cortisol, but the dopamine and serotonin receptors in his brain have been altered. Those neurotransmitters also play a role in mood, which could explain—” Bruce pauses and looks up at Bucky, who is still ignoring them. He raises one brow at Steve “—certain mood swings he’s been experiencing.”

There’s a lot Steve could say about Bucky’s mood swings, but he figures this isn’t the time. Instead he says, “When you say altered . . .”

Bruce nods uncomfortably. “Based on scar tissue and the results of an MRI, it looks like they actually performed several surgeries on his brain. Part of the purpose was to hook up the neural connections for his arm, but at least part of the goal was to—” another pause “— well, let’s just say that they turned off the pleasure receptors in his brain. They also decreased production of nitric oxide, which is the chemical largely responsible for the ability to achieve erection.”

Although Steve doesn’t understand the big words that Bruce uses, the explanation makes enough sense that Steve has to swallow down the nausea creeping up his throat. “Let me see if I understand. They rewired his brain that he can’t get hard and then changed the way he reacts to pleasure?”

Bruce flicks his gaze over to Bucky and back to Steve, his expression full of compassion. “Pretty much. I guess there was no need for a weapon to have a sex drive or be able to experience pleasure, so they rewired it to make him more alert and focused on the mission. Now that his brain is healing, he’s able to experience sexual pleasure, but it’s only half healed so his body is still misinterpreting the signals that happen when he is aroused. Since the Soldier only knew pain and the mission, he interprets your touch as an attack and it triggers his latent programming.”

The pain in Steve’s chest is almost unbearable, not for himself but for what Bucky has been through. He wishes, for probably the millionth time, that HYDRA wasn’t destroyed so that he could hunt them all down and take them apart with his bare hands. “So now what?” he asks past the lump in his throat. “You’re not gonna have to cut into his brain—”

“No,” Bruce says quickly. “His brain is healing pretty well, but Tony and I were able to come up with a compound to reverse the effects much more quickly than it would heal on its own. I was able to synthesize a cocktail of chemicals that will give it a boost and allow his body to start processing the neurotransmitters and hormones correctly, while Tony’s nanite technology will finish any physical repairs.”

Steve swallows hard. “You’re gonna inject this stuff into him?”

Bruce nods, his dark eyes apologetic.

There are nights, even now, that Steve wakes with the echoes of the bone-deep agony he experienced when Dr. Erskine and Howard Stark made him Captain America. Putting Bucky through something like that again terrifies him. “Will it hurt?” he asks softly.

“It shouldn’t. We’re thinking that six separate injections, gradually increasing in potency, will be enough that we don’t overwhelm his system,” Bruce explains. “The hard part is actually on you.”

Steve looks over at Bucky. Although his posture is still rigid, he has turned so that he’s looking at Steve, a look of desperation in his eyes. Steve looks back at Bruce and nods. “What do I need to do?”

“The chemicals can only do half of the work. After each injection, you’ll need to provide physical sensory input for his nervous system to integrate.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Physical sensory input? So we’ll have to, uh, you know, be intimate?” He fights back the blush at the thought. Christ, he’s talked about his sex life more in the last week that he has in his entire life before.

“Not at first,” Bruce replies, looking just as uncomfortable. He doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes as he explains. “It will just be general physical touch at first, hugging, rubbing his skin, things like that.”

“So I have to cuddle him?” Steve asks with a small chuckle. While Bucky has always tolerated Steve’s need for physical closeness, he’s never been one to settle for prolonged snuggling for long. Steve looks up at the soft snort from Bucky’s side of the room.

Bruce doesn’t hide his grin. “Yes, I guess you could call it that. Eventually you’ll have to progress to sexual contact, but yes, most of the treatment will be cuddling.”

“How long will it take to create the injections?”

“A few days,” Bruce admits. “So if you two want to move forward, we’ll start in the morning.”

Steve wants to tell Bruce to wait, that they need to talk about it, examine the benefits and risks from every angle, but if the past few days have taught him anything, it’s that Bucky doesn’t need his protection. He lifts his chin toward Bucky. “It’s not up to me. This is up to Bucky.”

Bucky looks surprised at first, then he grins. “Yeah, let’s go for it. Bein’ cuddled to death sure ain’t the worst thing that’s ever happened.”


	6. Chapter 6

Once Steve has a mission objective, he just wants to move on it. He has never had the patience for the prep work. While he knows that gathering intel, planning, and strategizing are important, he’d rather just throw himself into the fray and let the force of his will carry him through. He’d like to say that’s a Captain America thing, but it isn’t. That’s a Steve Rogers thing.

Seeing a way through this, then, having that goal in sight and not being able to do anything but wait is killing him. For two days, he and Bucky have been warily circling each other, barely able to be in the same room together for more than a few minutes at a time. Steve desperately wants to talk to him, to find out what he’s thinking, what he wants, because neither of them have brought up Bucky moving out again and the possibility hangs over Steve's head like a guillotine. Every time he tries to open his mouth, though, the words freeze in his throat. It’s like being in the ice again, but worse, because this time he can feel it happening.

Bucky isn’t in the apartment when Bruce and Tony show up at the door just before lunchtime. When Pepper arrived this morning, she’d been as unfailingly polite and elegant as usual, but Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that she was upset with him. Bucky left with her without explanation and Steve hasn’t heard from him since.

“He’s not here,” Steve says without preamble, opening the door to let them in.

Tony breezes past him into the living room and slumps into the overstuffed chair, leaving Bruce to follow with a matte silver briefcase. Bruce gives Steve a nod in greeting and walks over to set the briefcase on the kitchen island. “Where is he, then? Out destabilizing governments? Taking down world leaders? Getting coffee?”

Steve puts on his most disapproving expression, but it almost isn’t worth it. “It wasn’t funny the first half dozen times, Tony, and it still isn’t,” he says, sitting across from Tony on the couch. “And I don’t know where he is. He left with Pepper this morning and hasn’t been back.”

Tony winces,  then clenches his jaw shut with a snap. It's a small movement, but Steve notices. “What? Do you know where he is?”

As if he's telepathically asking what he should do, Tony's eyes flick over to Bruce,  but the other man just shrugs. “Well,” Tony says, drawing the word out.

There isn't much that hinders Tony's usual verbal diarrhea, so seeing him waffling sends a tendril of something like fear skittering up Steve’s spine. “Come on, Tony,” he pleads, “just tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s probably just a coincidence, I mean, maybe he’s just keeping her company, because why wouldn’t she need a hundred year old cyborg assassin for company when she’s—”

“Tony!”

“Fine, okay, jeez.” He takes a breath and looks around the apartment again before settling on Steve’s face. “When she left this morning, Pep said she was showing some of our properties to a prospective tenant. Which, really, that doesn’t mean—”

“Stop,” Steve chokes out, dropping his head into his hands. There’s a lump in his throat stopping him from saying anything else. Bucky is moving out. Steve said that Bucky should get his own place, and now he’s off with Pepper looking at places where he can be away from Steve. The tightness in his chest feels a lot like the asthma he hasn’t dealt with since before the serum.

Tony has thankfully stopped talking, but Steve isn’t sure if it’s the look on his own face or the side-eye that Bruce is giving him that is responsible. For a moment, Steve wants to crumble, but he knows he can’t. It won’t help him, and it sure won’t help Bucky. If anything, Bucky deserves to have Steve’s support. If this is what he wants, the least Steve can do is stand behind him.

He takes a deep, shaky breath and pulls his hands away from his face. “JARVIS, are Bucky and Pepper in the the tower?”

“Yes,” comes the immediate response. “Ms. Potts and Sergeant Barnes arrived back approximately twenty minutes ago, sir. They are on one of the unoccupied residential floors.”

“Arrived back?” Tony asks. Steve really wishes he hadn’t.

“According to the GPS, Ms. Potts and Sergeant Barnes visited several properties in Brooklyn earlier today, sir.”

Steve’s stomach turns over. Of course, Bucky would want to go back to Brooklyn. There’s nothing tying him to Manhattan but Steve. “Okay, that’s . . . thanks, JARVIS,” Steve manages to get out. “Can you let him know that Tony and Bruce are ready for him?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.” There’s a brief silence, then, “Sergeant Barnes requested that I inform you that he is on his way.”

The sympathy on the other men’s faces is gut-wrenching, so Steve escapes to the bathroom without a word, leaving Tony and Bruce staring at each other uncomfortably in the living room. He leans on the sink, gripping the edges so tight it feels like he might crack the marble, and forces himself to breathe. After a few minutes of sucking in one ragged breath after another, the air burning his lungs, he can finally raise his head to look at himself in the mirror. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, as if he’s been crying. He raises one hand to gingerly swipe across his face and finds that his cheeks are wet with tears he doesn’t remember shedding.

He forces himself to meet his own eyes, unflinching. He did this. He pushed Bucky away. Knowing it and facing the reality of it are two entirely different things.The pain is an riptide threatening to pull him under.

One more tremulous breath, then he steels himself. Whatever Bucky needs. That’s the mantra that has gotten him through the last year and half, and it is no less crucial now. Steve will put what he wants aside and do what Bucky needs. After all, he’s good at that. The thought of touching Bucky but not being able to keep him is like a knife wound in his gut, but it’s only leaving the knife in that keeps him from bleeding out, so he takes one last deep breath, splashes some cold water on his face, and goes back out to the living room.

Tony and Bruce are standing at the island with Bucky when Steve walks back out, but Pepper is nowhere to be seen. Bucky is studying the vials in the case and doesn’t look up when Steve approaches. When he finally does, he looks at Bruce, resolutely avoiding Steve’s eyes. It hurts, but Steve pushes through the pain. “So how is this going to work?"

Bruce turns, one of the vials in his hand, and pauses when he gets a good look at Steve’s face. Steve meets his eyes unwaveringly and after a few seconds, Bruce nods. “Three injections today, two tomorrow and one the day after that. They’ll gradually increase in potency,” he says, turning his attention from Steve to Bucky, who looks back impassively, “because we don’t want to overwhelm your limbic system by flooding your body with stress hormones.”

“JARVIS will be monitoring your vitals, both of you, and if anything spikes or seems the least bit off, he’ll let us know,” Tony cuts in, taking the injection gun out of the case and fiddling with it until Bruce takes it away from him. Tony shrugs and pulls a hand held scanner of some kind of his pocket. He waves it in front of the Bucky and the screen lights up. “While Bruce’s happy juice is rebalancing your chakras and all that hippie stuff, my nanites will be doing tissue repair and jumpstarting neural reconnection. Dr. Cho helped with programming the biochemical interfaces, so you don’t have to worry about suddenly developing a craving for scrapple or an obsession with show tunes.”

Bucky raises one eyebrow. “That’s real reassuring, Stark,” he retorts dryly.

“So, the injections,” Steve says. Getting caught up in Tony’s silliness is a surefire way to derail any mission. “There’s more to it than that?”

“Today is pretty simple. I’ll administer the injections each an hour apart. After each injection, you’ll need to hold him. Just touch him, skin to skin, but don’t do anything to, uh,” Bruce looks away and coughs once, then looks back at Steve and continues, “don’t get him aroused.” He glances over at Bucky. “If you’re aroused, you need to tell Steve. He should stop touching you immediately until you calm down. We’re reprogramming your nervous system, so we don’t want to trigger another episode halfway through.”

Bucky finally looks over at Steve. “So I just gotta lay there and let him rub all over me and not get turned on?” At Bruce’s nod, he shrugs. “Should be easy enough,” he responds flippantly. Steve wonders if it is clear to anyone but him how angry Bucky still is.

“Woo hoo,” Tony says with a low chuckle and a whistle, “this should be fun.” Apparently it is very obvious to everyone. “Don’t kill each other before we see if this works. We cleared your schedules for the next couple of days, so don't worry about taking care of any of that. And remember, you break anything else in this apartment and I’m taking it out of your allowance.”  

Steve flinches, but Bucky just turns to look at him impassively. “We doin’ this out here or in the bedroom?” he asks, inclining his head toward the couch.

“I, ah, I think out here would be better,” Steve stutters, trying not to think of spending the next few hours wrapped around Bucky’s body, touching him. He fails miserably. This is going to be hell.

Bucky nods. “I’m gonna put on something more comfortable,” he says, waving one hand down his body. Combat boots, skinny jeans, and the soft knit sweater that Steve gave him for Christmas probably aren’t the best attire for this. He heads toward the bedrooms without a backward glance.

Tony clears his throat as if he’s going to comment, but Steve turns a glare on him. “Just don’t,” he growls before following Bucky down the hallway to his own bedroom to get changed. He spends a few moments staring into his closet before pulling himself together long enough to grab a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. If the next few hours are going to be torture, he might as well be comfortable.

When he returns to the living room, he sees that Bucky had the same idea. He’s wearing a soft grey t-shirt that Steve is pretty sure originally belonged to him and black boxers, foregoing any shorts over them. His feet are bare and his hair is pulled up away from his face and fastened into a low bun. He looks young, heartbreakingly young. Steve swallows hard and looks away.

“Okay,” Bruce says, his voice cracking awkwardly. Steve is struck again, both by how incredibly odd his life has become and by how extraordinarily lucky he is that he has made friends who are willing to use their talents to help like this. He and Bucky were alone against the world for so long, until the Commandos became their makeshift family. The Avengers, it seems, are much the same.

Bruce holds the injection gun up, showing the small vial he loaded into the chamber. “Upper arm,” he says moving to stand on Bucky’s left before he realizes that isn’t going to work. “Ah, well, other arm, I guess,” he says with a small, uncomfortable laugh.

Bucky smiles for the first time in days, just a small twitch of his lips, before pulling his shirt sleeve up to reveal his flesh shoulder. Bruce presses the gun to the fleshy part of his upper arm and pulls the trigger. There’s a soft whining noise, but Bucky doesn’t react. When Bruce pulls the gun away, Bucky lets the shirt sleeve fall. “Am I supposed to feel anything?”

Tony shakes his head. “Not at first. You might feel a little antsy today, especially once the pat down starts, but it shouldn’t be anything really noticeable. By the third round, though, boy whee, you’ll start feeling it then. It’ll be like a Discovery channel special in here.” He grins and waves the scanner in front of Bucky, quickly tapping on the screen and murmuring to himself. “You took baseline readings, right, J?”

“Of course, sir. Both Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are physically functioning within normal parameters. My sensors have been calibrated to detect any uncontrolled spikes in catecholamines, heart rate and respiration and to warn yourself and Dr. Banner immediately.”

Tony nods absently. “Okay, kids. Looks like this show is on the road.” He looks both Steve and Bucky up and down then gives a quick grin. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Bruce and Tony shuffle out of the apartment, taking the briefcase with them and leaving Steve and Bucky looking at each other awkwardly. Steve takes a step backwards and motions toward the couch. “Do you, ah, I guess we should, well, lay down, maybe?”

Bucky shrugs as if it really doesn’t matter to him, but he follows Steve over to the couch. He waits until Steve arranges himself on his side before carefully laying in front of him so that his back is pressed to Steve’s chest. No matter how awkward the situation, the warmth of Bucky’s body against him is immediately reassuring. He slides one bare leg between Bucky’s to get more comfortable, then drapes his arm so that his hand is pressed against Bucky’s stomach. The muscles under his palm jump then relax as Bucky takes a breath, holds it for a beat, then lets it out in a smooth exhale.

The seconds tick by. Every few minutes, Bucky shifts minutely as if he’s trying to get comfortable and with nothing to distract him from the warm friction, Steve’s body does what it always does where Bucky is concerned. He presses himself back against the cushions in the hope that Bucky won’t notice. After a few more minutes, Bucky moves again and this time there is no way he can’t feel Steve’s erection against his ass. “Sorry,” Steve chokes out. “I, ah—”

“You’re not the one that matters, dumb ass,” Bucky says with a throaty chuckle. He pushes his hips back so that he grinds against Steve’s crotch and Steve can’t stop the low groan it elicits. Bucky laughs again, a little more breathlessly this time.

Desperate to distract himself, Steve blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Did you find any nice places in Brooklyn?”

Bucky tenses and shifts away so that he’s no longer pressed against Steve. Mission accomplished even though Steve is still achingly hard, but he’s not sure it was worth it. After a moment, Bucky shifts again so that they’re barely touching at all except where Steve’s arm is draped over him and their legs are twined together. “I’m not the one who said I should move out,” he says, his voice small in a way that makes Steve’s heart ache.

“I’m, dammit, Buck, it seems like no matter what I do, I’m hurting you. I’m just trying to do the right thing and I don’t have the slightest idea what that is.”

Bucky is silent for a moment, then he presses back again so that his body is one long line of heat against Steve’s front. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” he breathes. “Just because you’re built like a fucking brick wall these days doesn’t mean you have to carry every damn thing.”

“Buck—”

“No,” Bucky bites out, turning in Steve’s arms so that they’re face to face. From this close, his eyes are like a winter storm. “It’s my turn to talk now, pal, and you’re gonna listen. You don’t have to be the one who fixes everything. Some of that is on me too and if you’d just stop actin’ like your shield is all that’s standin’ between me and a Nazi tank, maybe I’d have half a chance.”

Steve leans forward so that their foreheads are touching. “Everything I do makes you miserable.”

Bucky shakes his head so that their noses bump together, drawing a shaky laugh from Steve. “Not you, asshole. The situation, maybe, but not you. You think I can’t see that whatever the hell is going on with me is makin’ you miserable too? I’m not the only one in this that matters.”

“You’ve been through so much—”

“Stop,” Bucky barks, drawing back far enough that he can headbutt Steve hard enough for it to actually hurt. “I get it. What I’ve been through sucks. I know that, but I can’t move past it if you won’t let me. You spend so much time worried that I can’t say no that you’re completely missing that I’m saying yes.”

“Yes?” The word gets stuck in Steve’s throat.

Bucky grins and rolls his eyes. “If I wasn’t under strict orders not to make the top of my head explode, I’d show you exactly how much I’m sayin’ yes, punk.” He rolls his hips, sending Steve from half-hard to fully erect again in seconds. He smiles even wider at Steve’s groan, then sobers again. “Listen, I get that you want to protect me, Stevie, but you gotta stop. You’re smotherin’ me with all that protectin’. You gotta trust me when I say I know what I want. I need to put a fucking end to everything they did to me. It’s bad enough that they took you outta my head, they don’t get to take this away from me too.”

“Not out,” Steve says, tilting his head to brush his lips across Bucky’s cheek. At Bucky’s confused look, he elaborates. “They didn’t take me out of your head, Buck. You knew me. They mighta buried me a little, but I was in there. Just like you’ve always been in here.” He pulls his arm back to slide between them, pressing the palm to his heart.

Bucky laughs. “You’re a fuckin’ sap, Steve Rogers.”

Steve shrugs. “Guess so.”  He runs his hand lightly down Bucky’s metal arm, then up under his shirt, the skin warm under his fingertips. “Do you feel anything yet?

Sagging into him, Bucky chuckles. “Feelin’ all kinds of things, pal.”

“You know what I mean, Buck. Do you feel any different?”

He arches his back a few times and rolls his head side to side. “Feels like the same ol’ inside of my head. Whatever Stark’s critters are doin’ in there, it don’t seem like much of anything.”

Even knowing that Bruce and Tony said that there wouldn’t likely be any reaction to these first few rounds of injections, Steve can’t help feel a little disappointed. Instead of voicing it, though, he pulls Bucky in so that his head is resting against Steve’s chest. He lifts his other hand to run through Bucky’s hair, knocking the clip out so that his hair falls in a curtain across his cheek. “Been waitin’ so long just to have you like this that waitin’ a bit longer for anything else isn’t a hardship at all, Buck.”

Steve feels Bucky’s lips curve where they’re pressed against his chest, even through the light cotton of his t-shirt. “Fuckin’ sap,” he murmurs.

They make it through the rest of the session, and the next one, without much trouble, but by the third injection, Steve can see what Tony meant by antsy. They both stripped their t-shirts off after the second session to get more skin to skin contact, and Bucky hasn’t stopped moving since. He shudders and arches against Steve’s chest every time Steve runs his hands down Bucky’s back or traces his fingertips across his collarbone. When Steve tangles his fingers through Bucky’s hair and pulls gently, the soft, hitching moan he lets out goes right to Steve’s groin. They’ve had to stop, to slow down and catch their breath and let Bucky calm down, six times already and according JARVIS’ countdown, they still have twenty minutes to go.

Steve whimpers softly when Bucky’s fingertips dip beneath the waistband of his shorts, just above the swell of his ass, as he pulls away to give the other man a disapproving look. “This ain’t helpin’ you stay calm, Buck,” he admonishes. He’s proud that at least his voice is steady, even if his blood is about to boil over from hours of simmering arousal.

Bucky laughs softly and presses his palms to Steve’s bare back instead, hands making small, soothing circles against his skin. “I got it under control, doll,” he murmurs against the curve of Steve’s shoulder, his warm breath ghosting over Steve’s skin. He tucks his head in until his face is tucked tight against Steve’s neck.

It doesn’t feel like twenty minutes later when JARVIS announces, “Dr Banner requests your presence in the lab, Sergeant Barnes. He would like to run some tests to determine the effectiveness of today’s treatment.”

Bucky arches into an exaggerated stretch, chuckling when Steve shoves him so that he falls off the couch into an ungainly heap on the floor. “Let him know I’m on my way,” he says, then to Steve, “You wanna come with me?”

Steve thinks about it for a second. On one hand, the past several hours have left him keyed up and raw enough the he doesn’t really want to let Bucky out of his sight. However, that same sensitivity means that watching Bucky be subjected to Bruce’s medical tests will likely trigger Steve’s overprotectiveness. At hard as it is for Steve to let go of the overwhelming need to protect Bucky, he needs to try, for Bucky’s sake. He shakes his head. “Not unless you need me there. Probably better for me to fret from up here than down there where you can see me doin’ it.”

Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s shoulder. “You’re learnin’, Rogers.”

After Bucky and Bruce finish up in the lab, the rest of the evening passes almost comfortably. Bucky and Steve don’t avoid each other, but they also don’t poke at old wounds. Instead, they find a channel playing old Disney movies and spend several more hours curled up on the couch. When Bucky stretches out and puts his head in Steve’s lap, Steve combs one hand through Bucky’s hair and doesn’t move away.

They fall asleep tangled together and wake up with sore necks and backs that are only slightly eased by the effects of the serum. A lazy breakast, a quick workout in the gym, and then Bruce and Tony are again standing in their kitchen, the silver briefcase open on the island in front of them. “You wanna explain that again?” Bucky says, looking between them, then turning to stare at Steve.

Bruce clears his throat. “There are only two injections today and we’ve been able to optimize the compound’s effectiveness based on the results of the tests we ran last night.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that part,” Bucky says with an impatient arm gesture. “Get to the part where I gotta jerk off for two hours.”

Steve flushes. If touching Bucky without really being able to touch him was torture, he isn’t sure how he’s going to make it through today without combusting.

“Think of it as a marathon without the prize at the end,” Tony says with a smirk. He turns to drag his gaze down Steve’s body in a way that makes Steve want to fold his arms over his bare chest, then adds, “Living with Captain Tease over here, you’ve got to be used to that by now.” Steve wishes they had chosen to strip down to their boxers after Tony and Bruce left.

Bucky turns to glare at him. “I will end you, Stark,” he growls, taking a step forward.

“Just ignore him, Buck,” Steve says, grabbing his left arm to pull him back as Bruce steps neatly between them. Bucky’s arm whines softly as the plates shift under Steve’s grip.

“I realize that it won’t be comfortable,” Bruce says, planting his body in front of Tony and redirecting Bucky’s attention. “We need to remap your neuroreceptors while increasing the production of nitric oxide a commensurate amount. If we don’t find the right balance, it could have some very unpleasant side effects.”

“Side effects?” Bucky asks with a shudder. “Like it won’t work at all?”

Bruce shrugs uncomfortably. “Or perhaps worse, you would become aroused without ever being able to climax. These are some pretty complicated neurobiological systems we’re messing with.”

Steve swallows hard. “But that’s not gonna happen if we do this right?”

Bruce nods. “As long as you follow the protocol, everything should be fine. That’s why it’s important that you maintain an erection for as long as possible while maintaining physical connection with Steve. Your body will reintegrate Steve’s touch as a pleasurable sensory input rather than an attack.”

“Two hours? My dick’s gonna fall off,” Bucky whines, dropping his head forward so that his forehead rests against Steve’s shoulder. “You better be as good as I remember, Rogers, because this is seriously pushing the bounds of worth the effort.”

Bruce coughs uncomfortably while Tony snickers. Tony opens his mouth to say something, likely very inappropriate, but Bruce cuts him off. “And on that note, let’s get this started,” he says, holding up the pre-loaded injection gun.

After Bruce administers the first injection and the two of them leave, Steve looks uncomfortably at the couch. “Um, should we, ah, couch or bed?”

Bucky makes a face. “Fuck the couch. If I’m gonna be spending the next two hours with a hard-on, I’m damn well gonna be comfortable.” He starts down the hallway and Steve is slightly mollified that he stops in Steve’s doorway. Some deep, possessive part of him likes the idea of Bucky in his bed.

They arrange themselves on the bed so that Steve is stretched out on his side with Bucky laying in front him, mimicking the way they had laid on the couch yesterday. Bucky’s back is warm against Steve’s chest and he lets his palm rest lightly on the skin of Bucky’s hip where his boxers have shifted down a little. Steve closes his eyes and focuses on the slow, steady cadence of their breathing. It’s pleasant and Steve lets himself imagine falling asleep with Bucky like this in his arms.

After a while, he notices that the rhythm of Bucky’s breathing isn’t quite so slow or steady anymore. Bucky’s body rocks slightly against his and when Steve opens his eyes, he looks down to see that Bucky has slipped his right hand under the waistband of his boxers and is slowly stroking himself. Although his hand is still covered by his underwear, Steve can imagine what it looks like wrapped around his dick, the smooth skin sliding obscenely though his grip.

Bucky’s arm jerks slightly on the upstroke and his breath hitches before evening out into soft, quick panting again. To stave off the desire to reach his own hand inside Bucky’s shorts and take over, Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s hip and rocks his hips forward. The friction against his rapidly filling cock is delicious and Steve bites back a low moan.

Whether it’s the noise Steve makes or the way his hand convulsively closes, Bucky’s reaction is immediate. He rolls his head back so that it’s tipped against Steve’s shoulder and pulls his hand out long enough to shove his boxers down roughly, shifting his hips to get them halfway down his thighs. Steve looks down the front of Bucky’s body to watch as he drags his fingers slowly over the head of his cock, flushed red with blood and glistening. “Fuck, Stevie, wish I could get your hands on me. This is fucking torture.”

Steve closes his eyes and takes three deep breaths, the whole time willing himself not to move. His hand opens and closes on Bucky’s hip repeatedly, desperate to slide down and cup the hard, slick warmth for himself. “Me too, Buck. Soon, soon.”

“Tell me,” Bucky says, his voice raw. He slides his hand down to circle the base of his cock, holding it without stroking. “Tell me what you wanna do, doll.”

“Fuck, Bucky, I can’t,” Steve groans, his hips pressing forward to grind against Bucky’s ass without conscious thought.

Bucky chuckles. “You can, come on. Tell me how bad you want it.”

“I do,” Steve relents, breaths coming in short puffs against the back of Bucky’s neck, “but we gotta make it through another hour and a half and that isn’t going to help.”

A warm, soft chuckle and then Bucky is pressing his hips back to grind against Steve’s cock. “You ain’t the one who’s gotta wait, ya know. You could get off, nothin’ stoppin’ you.”

As tempting as the idea is, as easy as it would be to rub against the warmth of Bucky’s body until he comes, Steve shifts back as far as he can without letting go of Bucky’s side instead, creating a pocket of space between them. “If you can’t, I’m not going to, Buck. Not till we’re together for real.”

Bucky shudders and his arm moves as he gives himself a slow, firm stroke. “Jesus, Rogers, still such a fucking boy scout. Okay, fine, yeah, we can do that.”

The next two hours are just as excruciating as Steve expected. Bucky moans and writhes in his arms, occasionally letting out a muttered curse or Steve’s name, as he keeps himself aroused. Every now and then, he breaks down and begs Steve to touch him and Steve has to practice deep breathing exercises while he refuses. He tries to conjure up the steady battle-focus of a mission to ignore how good it feels when Bucky rubs against him, but it’s not even remotely effective. He’s not sure if Bucky is doing it on purpose or not, but the result is the same.

Otherwise, they pass the time silently, as if neither of them is willing to risk sabotaging the fragile truce they’ve found by talking. Words haven’t proven to be an efficient way for them to communicate lately, so Steve will be glad to have this barrier out of the way. Over the years, more than one fight was diffused by a well-timed kiss. It will be nice to have that maneuver in his arsenal again.

Their only reprieve from the constant simmering arousal comes when JARVIS announces that Bruce is on his way to the apartment for the next shot. Bucky quickly pulls his boxers back up and they’re waiting awkwardly in the kitchen when Bruce arrives. He averts his eyes while he’s giving the injection, allowing them all to ignore the obvious flush in both their faces and the way their erections tent the thin cotton of their boxers. Steve is grateful that Tony didn’t feel the need to come along for the follow-up.

After the last injection, they decide to stay on the couch instead of returning to Steve’s bed. As it is, it’s going to be hard enough to sleep in there with the echoes of Bucky’s moans and the pillow that smells like his coconut shampoo. No point adding even more torture to it. Steve remembers a time during which medical treatments were just as likely to nearly kill you as they were to make you better, and this ordeal definitely qualifies.

Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist, fitting the other man’s back against his chest as they get comfortable, or as comfortable as they can. Bucky already stripped out of his boxers, so there’s nothing but skin pressed against him and Steve’s cock aches with the constant, unrelenting arousal.

“You know, this must be some kind of sick pay back,” Bucky says, sliding his arm down so that he’s gripping the back of Steve’s thigh with his flesh hand. Steve chances a glance down Bucky’s body and sees that his flushed, swollen dick is lying in his metal grip now, the light reflecting off his fingers as he teases them up and down the shaft.

Steve’s mouth goes dry so that he has to swallow hard before he chokes out, “Pay back? For what?”

Bucky chuckles and kneads Steve’s leg gently, the warmth of his hand providing something for Steve to focus on instead of the ache in his groin. “For all those times I made you wait. Do you remember, Stevie? The way I’d get you all riled up?”

Steve groans softly. He does remember. He remembers how fascinated Bucky was by the changes Erskine’s formula had wrought, the way he’d trace his hands over the new curves of muscle in Steve’s arms, his chest, and his stomach. Once Steve was bigger and stronger, it seemed to give Bucky a thrill to have Steve lay back and take whatever Bucky wanted to do to him. Hours of what felt like torture sometimes, with Bucky’s mouth and hands doing wicked things to Steve’s body. Steve could have stopped him at any time, was strong enough to flip them over, pin Bucky to the bed, and take whatever he wanted, but he never did.

“I remember,” he murmurs, his voice gone raspy and raw. “I remember that it hurt to wait. It was so intense, the way the serum changed my body. You’d get me so close that I couldn’t imagine not losing it if you touched me one more time, then you’d stop and make me calm down before starting all over again.”

Bucky’s hand moves a little faster on his dick, the metal squeezing with each stroke. “It was good, though? After, when you finally got to let go? It felt good?”

“Yeah,” Steve responds, starting to rock his hips forward again so that he’s grinding against Bucky’s ass. With just the thin cotton of his boxers separating him from Bucky’s skin, the warmth is enticing. “It was really good, Buck. Intense, like it hurt, but a good kind of hurt. It’s why I never stopped you. I knew that if I was good for you, if I waited like you wanted me to, you’d make me feel amazing.”

“Ah, fuck, Steve. I don’t know if I can wait,” Bucky pants, his hand moving even faster, pushing himself toward completion. “I need to come so bad, Stevie. It hurts.”

“I know, babe, I know, but you can do it. We’re almost there, just a little while longer.” Steve pulls his arm free to reach down and grasp Bucky’s hand where it’s gripping his leg and forces his body to still. He remembers the husky praise Bucky would murmur as he was working Steve over. “I got you. Just be good for me for a little while longer. You can do that, right? Just a little more.”

“Yeah, fuck, I can, Steve. I can be good for you.” Bucky’s hand slows on his dick, gliding slowly, almost reverently across the heated skin. Steve can’t tear his eyes away.

“That’s right,” Steve murmurs. “Just take it easy. We’re almost there.” He holds Bucky’s hand through the rest of the time, giving it a little squeeze occasionally to remind him of their connection.

When JARVIS announces that Bruce is waiting for Bucky on the medical floor, the sigh of relief is replaced with a groan. “Tell him I gotta take care of something first,” Bucky returns, turning to waggle his eyebrows at Steve comically.

“Dr. Banner requested that you go straight to the lab,” JARVIS replies. “He stated that the readings would be most accurate if you were still aroused, sir.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bucky bites out. “I’ve had a hard-on for two hours and now he wants me to wander around the tower with it on display? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, HYDRA’s got nothing on the sick fucks living here.” He turns to Steve and pulls a slightly repentant face. “Sorry, Stevie. I know you don’t like it when I joke about HYRDA.”

Steve sighs. He doesn’t like it, that’s true, but he’s starting to realize that it’s Bucky’s way of minimizing what they did to him, of taking away their power, so he just shrugs.

“I assure you, Sergeant Barnes, I am not attempting to amuse you,” JARVIS responds. “I can divert access to the elevator to ensure that you will encounter a minimum of personnel during your trip, if that would be helpful, sir.”

“Fine, yeah, let’s get this over with,” he grouses, stomping to his room to pull on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He looks up at Steve as he’s lacing his combat boots and glowers. “Not a word, Rogers. I’m not stuffing my johnson into a pair of skinny jeans like this, for fucks sake.”

Steve bites back a laugh. “Of course not,” he replies mildly, biting the inside of his cheek. “The combat boots really round out the look though.”

Bucky flips him off with his left hand, but he’s smiling too. He sobers suddenly when he stands up and approaches Steve, reaching out to gently cup his cheek. “When I get back, we’re gonna order Thai and watch Netflix the rest of the day. I ain’t lettin’ you out of my sight, everyone else can go fuck themselves.”

Steve leans in and bumps his forehead to Bucky’s lightly. He feels shaky and off-balance, he’s still incredibly turned on, and the thought of dealing with anyone else today is distinctly unpleasant. “Yeah, Buck. I got it. I’ll get something queued up. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

As planned, they spend the rest of the evening feeding each other panang curry and laughing at old cartoons. Steve’s chest aches when Bucky says goodnight and heads down the hallway to his own room, but he tells himself that it’s just one more night, whether that’s really true or not.

As agreed upon, Tony and Bruce arrive at Steve and Bucky’s door just after lunch the next day. Pancakes for breakfast, after which they went down to the gym for a few hours, then leftover Thai for lunch. It had been a good morning designed to keep them from obsessing about the afternoon. Given that Steve can’t stop looking at Bucky, it was only partly successful.

Tony walks in ahead of Bruce, who is carrying the silver briefcase, and shoves a brown paper bag at Steve’s chest. “What is this?” Steve asks, opening the bag to peer inside and then quickly closing it. He can feel his face heating up when Tony starts to laugh.

“Wanted to make sure you had everything you needed,” Tony says with a smirk. Bucky snatches the bag from Steve and dumps the contents out on the counter.

A strip of six condoms, two bottles of lube and an impressively sized silicone dildo fall out, and Steve groans when Bucky’s laughter joins Tony’s. He picks up one of the bottles and reads the label before cocking an eyebrow at Tony. “Blueberry flavored? They make slick that’s flavored now?”

“You’re living in a whole new world, Barnes,” Tony says with a conspiratorial wink.

Bucky picks up the strip of condoms and throws them at Tony.  "Ain't gonna need these, though," he says with a grin. Tony's eyes widen slightly but he shrugs as he stuffs them into his pocket. 

“Tony,” Steve sighs, grabbing the bag to scrape the rest of the items back into it. He crumples the top shut and shoves it into the top drawer on the island. “As hard as I know it is for you to be serious, do you think we could focus for just a minute?”

“Okay, fine, you’re no fun at all,” Tony whines, then motions toward Bruce. “Come on, Dr. Feelgood, show them the goods and let’s get this party started.”

“You are definitely not invited to the party, Stark,” Bucky cuts in with a faint threat in his voice.

“Yeah, I get it. Hands off the merchandise, I can look but don’t touch, right?”

“I’d rather you didn’t look either,” Bucky returns menacingly, “but Steve said I can’t carve your eyes out.”

Tony raises his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender and Bruce steps between them, rolling his eyes. “Anyway,” he says with a long-suffering sigh, “there’s just the last injection left. This one will be the most intense, as it’s really what will solidify the restructuring of the neural connections.”

“When you say intense?” Bucky asks.

Bruce rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably but looks at Bucky when he answers. “This injection contains the highest doses of the both the alpha-adrenergic stress hormones as well as the neurotransmitters associated with the experience of pleasure. For everything to resynchronize the way it should, you need to reach maximum synthesis as many times as possible within the next hour.”

“Maximum synthesis?” Bucky’s expression holds the same confusion that Steve feels.

“You need to get him off, Cap,” Tony says with a grin, clearly taking pleasure in the way Steve immediately goes red. “For his body to start seeing touch as part of pleasure, not just mayhem and murder, you’ll need to get your boy to blow his lid as many times as you can in the next hour. Time to put all that speculation about whether the serum affects refractory time to the test.”

Steve gives Tony his best disapproving look, but it’s Bucky’s turn to smirk at Tony. “No speculation needed, Stark," he says with a smile that shows his teeth. 

“Anyway, yes, as Tony so eloquently put it,” Bruce cuts in, waving his hands at Tony in a shooing gesture, “the final stage of reintegration requires that your body synthesize the physical sensory input with the chemical production associated with sexual arousal. So yes, you’ll need to be directly involved in bringing him to orgasm, as many times you can manage within the period of maximum effectiveness.”

Steve’s body reacts to the mental image that calls up and he swallows hard before asking, “How will we know that it worked?”

Tony raises one eyebrow. “Well, when you put your hand on his dick and he doesn’t stab you in the throat, it will probably be a pretty good indication.”

“Jesus, Tony,” Steve barks, but Bucky shrugs wryly.

“Not that I’d stab you, but he’s got a point. Things have gone off the rails pretty quickly before. We’ll know as soon as you touch me if it worked.”

“JARVIS will be monitoring if you need to call for help, Steve,” Bruce says gently, taking the injection gun out of the case and setting it on the counter. “All of the test results indicate that Bucky has been responding favorably to the treatment. There’s no reason to think that it won’t work.”

Steve sighs and runs one hand down his face. “Fine, okay. Let’s get started then.”

Bucky rolls his sleeve up and waits for Bruce to set the gun against his upper arm and pull the trigger. It makes the soft whining noise again and this time Bucky flinches slightly when it stops. “It burns a little,” he says, rubbing his arm.

“That’s expected,” Bruce says with a nod, placing the gun back in the case. He motions toward Tony and then toward the door. “We’ll just get out of your hair.”

Tony diverts through the kitchen and pulls the paper bag out of the drawer. He throws it to Steve with a wink. “You’re gonna need this, Cap,” he says, following Bruce out before either Bucky or Steve can retaliate.

There’s a moment of awkward silence as Steve looks down at the bag, then up at Bucky, who is standing in the living room watching him intently. He shifts onto the balls of his feet and swallows hard before saying, “Do you want to, ah—”

“Bedroom, now,” Bucky bites out sharply, marching over and grabbing Steve’s hand to yank him forward with enough force that he almost drops the bag. Clutching it to his chest, he lets himself be dragged through the apartment and into his bedroom.

Once they’re in the room, Bucky drops his hand and shimmies out of his clothes before falling back on the bed to look up at Steve expectantly. “Clock is ticking, Stevie. You gonna get naked and get over here any time soon?”

Steve’s mouth goes dry at the sight of Bucky spread out in front of him. He lets his legs fall open lewdly, leaving nothing to Steve’s imagination and even the way the lights glint off the metal of his left arm makes him stare. After another moment, Bucky clears his throat again and Steve jumps. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Bucky as he strips quickly and climbs onto the bed to stretch out.

He reaches out, hand hovering above Bucky’s chest as if a force field prevents him making contact. The emotional upheaval of the last few days washes over him and suddenly he’s so anxious he can barely think. What if this doesn’t work? What if they’ve put Bucky through this for no reason and Steve is about to hurt him yet again?

He’s about to pull away when Bucky reaches out and closes his metal hand around Steve’s wrist tight enough that he can’t break free. He tugs Steve forward until his palm is pressed flat over Bucky’s heart. “Ain’t gonna break, Stevie. This time it’s for real. Come on, doll,” he whispers, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth.

The soft words open the floodgates holding back everything Steve has been repressing for the last week and he lunges forward to capture Bucky’s mouth in a kiss that is far more filthy than Bucky’s almost chaste one. Bucky doesn’t hesitate in parting his lips to allow Steve to lick inside, the warm wet heat of Bucky’s mouth like coming home.

He drags his fingertips lightly down Bucky’s chest and over the ridges of his abdomen, smirking at the way Bucky arches and moans. Bucky brings both hands up to grip Steve’s biceps, clinging to him as he traces a path through the thick hair at the base of his dick. He hesitates for only a moment, dread pounding through him, then wraps his hand around the other man’s cock, already hard, the tip moist with precome.There’s a breath of terrible anticipation, but nothing happens. The grey-blue of Bucky’s eyes remain clouded with lust, not panic, and the relief is like a fluttering thing in Steve’s chest. Without a word, he quickly slides down Bucky’s body and replaces his hand with his mouth, taking as much as he can in one smooth movement, sucking and flicking his tongue against the head as he does. Bucky gives a sharp shout and arches under him, his fingers digging into Steve’s shoulders where he still holds on. “Holy mother of God, Stevie, your mouth. Fuck. That feels so fucking good.”

Steve smiles around the warm weight of Bucky in his mouth. It should be impossible to remember Bucky’s taste, the musky smell of him, but Steve would swear it hasn’t changed. He slides up and back down, each time running his tongue over the veins lining Bucky’s dick, then pushes down far enough that his nose bumps into the warm skin of Bucky’s stomach. He feels the head bump the back of his throat and he tries to swallow a few times, experimentally, enjoying the way Bucky lets out a shaky exhalation and his hands leave Steve’s shoulders to tighten in his hair.

He lets his tongue circle the head when he comes back up, giving a hard suck before letting Bucky’s cock slip from his mouth. “You got a filthy mouth, Buck. Father O’Malley would give you four Hail Mary’s for that, you know,” he teases, smirking up at Bucky.

“Shut it, punk. I’m gettin’ my first suck job since 1945. A man’s bound to have some strong words to say about it,” Bucky retorts, the last words devolving into a groan when Steve closes his mouth around the head of his dick again.

Steve uses one hand on Bucky’s hip to keep him still and the other slides down to roll his balls gently between his fingers. He opens his mouth as he takes Bucky back in so that the saliva pools at the base of his dick, messy in the dark hair there. He gathers a little on his fingers and uses the moisture to tease over Bucky’s balls, keeping with the rhythm he sets with his mouth, then slides farther back. Rubbing his slick fingers over the pucker of muscle, Steve raises his head so that he can flick his tongue against Bucky’s slit, sucking hard enough that his cheeks hollow.

“Oh, fuck, Steve, Steve, I’m gonna come, Steve, oh fuck, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Bucky’s hands scrabble in his hair, not pushing down but holding tight in the short strands and following the motion as Steve dips his head again.

Not that there was ever any chance that Steve would stop, but he proves how ridiculous the notion is when he presses the tip of one finger inside just as he slides his mouth quickly down, sucking the whole time. Bucky arches his back and comes with a shout, pumping his warm release into Steve’s mouth. He swallows quickly, not willing to lose even a drop and pulls off with a self-satisfied grin as Bucky slumps back against the bed.

He licks his lips as he crawls back up Bucky’s body, laughing when Bucky opens his eyes long enough to pull him into a dirty kiss. He falls back, breathing hard, when Steve releases him, a pleased grin curving his lips. “That was worth every Hail Mary Father O’Malley could give me. Might even assign some to myself, because that was fucking awesome.”

It’s enough, almost, just to look at Bucky, flushed and sweaty and blissed out beneath him. One more thing he never thought he’d get to have again. As horrible as the things Bucky has been through are, having him here like this is a gift that Steve can’t find it in himself to regret. “That was one, Buck,” he says, dipping to run his lips over Bucky’s sweat-soaked brow. “We got another forty-five minutes to see how many more I get out of you.”

Bucky groans, but his dick twitches with interest. He leans up and opens one eye to glare at Steve. “You too, pal. You said together, last night. You owe me that.” He brings one hand up to circle Steve’s neglected cock in a loose grip, making him swear softly and push his hips into the touch. “You’ve got five minutes to get slicked up and get in me, or I ain’t gonna be responsible for my actions.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve breathes, an attempt at bravado, but the way his voice cracks at the end makes it a lie.

Bucky reaches to where Steve dropped the bag on the bed and pulls out a bottle, brandishing it at Steve like an offering. “Oh yeah,” he responds with a smirk. “This one is just plain slick, though. No fancy flavors.”

Steve takes the bottle from him and leans in to bite down on the curve where Bucky’s shoulder meets his neck, causing him to swear and fall back onto the bed. When Steve shifts to kneel between his legs, Bucky lets his knees splay open like an invitation. For a moment, Steve just looks at him, drinking in the sight. “You’re beautiful, Buck,” Steve breathes, his throat suddenly tight. “Never thought I’d get to see you like this again.”

Bucky’s eyes are wet when he looks up at Steve, but he quickly swipes one hand across his face and replaces the softness with a cocky grin. “Don’t get all weepy on me, Stevie. We’re here. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, Buck, you’re right,” Steve allows. He distracts himself by opening the bottle and pouring out a little of the slippery liquid. He rubs his fingers together experimentally, fascinated once again by the modern era. “This woulda sure made our lives a lot easier back in the day,” he observes, moving his hand down to press one slick finger against Bucky’s hole.

“Sure woulda,” Bucky agrees, shifting his hips slightly as Steve presses inside. “Oh, fuck me, that feels good. Fucking sensitive, but,” his voice breaks when Steve starts to slide the finger in and out, then replaces the one with two, “really fucking good.”

The hot, slick grip of Bucky’s body on his fingers is almost too much for Steve. He quickly reaches down to grip the base of his cock with his other hand, trying to hold off his own impending climax. “You ready for another?” he asks brokenly, desperately hoping the answer is yes.    

“Yeah, do it, Stevie, come on. More.” Bucky rocks his hips, forcing Steve’s fingers in and out faster, groaning roughly when Steve starts to scissor his fingers to loosen him even more. “That’s enough, come on, come on, Steve. Fuck me. Please, I need it.”

After all of the lead up it has taken to get here, there’s a part of Steve that wants to draw this out, but the way Bucky is writhing, his hands convulsively closing into fists in the sheets, makes Steve nod in agreement. He grabs the bottle of slick, squeezing out a few more drops to slick up his dick, then shuffles forward and lines himself up with the opening of Bucky’s body and stops, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

Something must show on his face because Bucky’s expression suddenly soften. “It’s okay, doll. I got you, “ he murmurs, leaning forward slightly so that he can reach to pet down Steve’s arms. “Come on, Steve, it’s okay.”

Swallowing hard again, Steve nods once and starts to press forward. His head catches on the rim, then slips past the muscle and suddenly, for the first time in almost seventy years, he’s buried in the slick, gripping heat of Bucky’s body. Heart stuttering in his chest, Steve clamps his eyes shut and leans forward to drape himself over Bucky, weight braced on his forearms on either side of Bucky’s chest.

“Stevie, doll. Open your eyes. I got you,” Bucky murmurs, bringing one hand up to lightly trace the curve of Steve’s cheek. He brushes the pad of his thumb gently over Steve’s closed eyelid, then smiles when Steve’s eyes flutter open. “There you are.”

From this close, Steve can see himself reflected in the pale, grey-blue of Bucky’s eyes, soft and hazy with matching emotion. Getting lost in them almost distracts him from the tight clench of Bucky’s body around him. “I gotta move, Buck. That okay?”

“Hell yeah, it’s okay. Come on, sweetheart, let go.” Bucky arches his back when Steve slides out, hovering just on the edge of pulling out completely, before sliding back in. The wet drag of Bucky’s body on his cock is maddening, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine with each movement. After a few tentative thrusts to allow Bucky to adjust, Steve sets a rhythm that drives them both toward the edge at a frenzied pace.

Within moments, Bucky is moaning in time with the thrusts, hands tracing over Steve’s chest to tease his nipples before trailing up to grip his biceps when Steve angles a thrust to graze over his prostate. Bucky rocks his hips up so that he can lock his ankles behind Steve’s back, trapping his cock, hard and leaking again, between their bodies. Steve feels his balls draw up, the hot, tingling ache of pleasure pooling at the base of his spine. “Oh God, Buck, I can’t, I’m not gonna last, come on. Wanna feel you,” Steve bites out, shoving one hand between their bodies to wrap around Bucky’s dick. Two strokes is all it takes and Bucky clamps down on him as he comes, warm and wet over Steve’s hand. The rhythmic clenching of Bucky’s body pulls him over the edge and Steve nearly whites out with the pleasure.

When Steve opens eyes he didn’t remember closing, Bucky smiles and reaches up to brush damp hair off his forehead. “That’s two,” he murmurs with a sly smirk, finally letting his legs fall open from where they were locked around Steve’s waist. “That all you got in ya?”

Steve pulls out gently, missing the heat as soon as it’s gone.  “Give me a second to catch my breath, jerk, and we’ll see what’s what,” he teases, tweaking one nipple with his fingers and smirking at the way Bucky arches off the bed.

In the end, they’re just shy of five when JARVIS announces that Bruce is waiting in the lab to run the final analysis. Bucky shakes his head with a grunt when Steve’s thrusts falter and he reaches back with his metal hand to grasp Steve’s hip and keep him from pulling out. “Tell him we’ll be there in a little while,” he says in a voice that brooks no argument. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”


	7. Epilogue

The image projected into the air in front of him is crystal clear, thanks to the tower’s superior technological infrastructure. Pinching two fingers together and flicking them up to adjust the volume, he watches as Barnes leads the good Captain into the elevator that services the residential floors. There’s nothing inherently weird about that, it is their floor after all, but something about Barnes’ smirk gives him pause. That and the way Rogers shifts awkwardly on his feet, as if he’s nervous about something. Nervous is not a look Tony has ever seen on the Captain’s face before. Pissed beyond belief, sad as a kicked puppy, embarrassed as hell, and filled with righteousnesses, sure, but not nervous. It’s enough to warrant a second look.

Although Tony doesn’t regularly monitor the security feeds, preferring to leave the tedious work to JARVIS, an error code triggered in the electrical system on that level had him scanning the hours of video just to be sure it wasn’t anything but a glitch. He speeds up the video to double time and watches while they descend a few floors, until Barnes moves to the right side of the elevator and does something to the security panel there.

He pops another handful of blueberries into his mouth from the bag on the counter, and with a flick of his wrist, he slows the video back to normal time. Although the elevators in the tower are almost silent, Tony hasn’t been able to work out the slight whine that occurs between floors. The lack tells him that the elevator has come to a stop.  

“Can I be of assistance?” JARVIS’ voice plays through the sound system accompanying the video.

Barnes looks up at the ceiling and Tony grimaces. How many times does he have to tell people that JARVIS isn’t in the fucking ceiling?

“Nah, we’re just gonna take a little break here. Can you divert traffic to the other elevators for a while?” Barnes says, flicking a glance over to Steve, who hasn’t moved away from the side of the elevator.

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes. I should warn you, though, that a malfunction longer than fifteen minutes will trigger an error code likely to be noticed by Mr. Stark,” JARVIS explains on the video.

JARVIS is quite the sneaky double agent, it seems. Tony speeds up the video again and watches as Barnes stalks towards Steve in double time, before reaching into the pocket of his heavy pea coat and pulling something out that makes Steve’s eyes widen. Tony slows the video again and rewinds it a little to see that Barnes is holding the magnetic cuffs he made them. Whoa boy, this is going all kinds of interesting places.

Tony glances around the lab to make sure it’s empty and adjusts the volume up a little farther.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Buck,” Steve says hesitantly even though he holds out a hand for the cuffs.

Bucky runs his metal hand up Steve’s arm and he shivers, his eyes falling half closed in pleasure. “You’ve got enough bad memories, doll. Soon as you told me this story, I knew we had to set it right. Give you some good thoughts to remember instead.”

Story? Oh, right. When Cap went up against STRIKE Team One in the elevator at the Triskelion in D.C. Still not a story Tony has heard in its entirety, but one that he’s pretty sure didn’t involve Steve fastened to the wall with the cuffs and Barnes on this knees in front of him. He nuzzles his face against Steve’s crotch, pulling a small whimper out of the other man, and that’s a sound Tony didn’t even know Steve could make.

He reaches up with his flesh hand and thumbs the button open before tugging the zipper down. Steve struggles against the cuffs for a moment, then sighs and relaxes when Barnes tugs his pants and underwear down enough to wrap his hand around Steve’s bare cock. “Ah, there we go, nice and hard for me already,” Barnes says, voice rough.

Yep, Cap’s dick is just as impressive as the last time he saw it. Barnes licks his lips and leans in, and Tony unconsciously mimics the movement, leading forward in anticipation. With just centimeters to go, Barnes flicks his tongue out to lick the—

“Please tell me this is a joke,” Bruce says tiredly, reaching past Tony to flick the image away. “This is low, even for you.”

Tony starts, narrowly missing knocking the bag of blueberries off the workbench. He presses one hand to his chest in an exaggerated gesture. “For fucks sake, Bruce. Give a guy some warning. They may have gotten the shrapnel out, but the old ticker ain’t what she used to be.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and drops on to the stool next to him, reaching over to take a handful of the blueberries. He puts them in his mouth and chews thoughtfully before answering. “You’re perfectly healthy, Tony. Healthy enough to violate your friends’ privacy, apparently.”

Tony pulls a face. “If those two are going to drag their sexcapades all over my tower, they’re practically begging for me to watch them.”

“It might be in bad taste for them to fool around in the elevator,” Bruce concedes, “but it’s no worse than some of your antics.”

“My tower,” Tony retorts with an extravagant pout. “I can have antics wherever I want.”

“And how would Pepper feel about that? It’s one thing for her to be aware of your past predilections, but I’m not sure she’d be so understanding if she caught you ogling your friends.”

Tony sighs. “Ogling is a strong word. Admiring maybe?”

“Tony.”

“Okay, fine, do you have some kind of friendship contract for me to sign?” He crosses one hand over his heart and announces, “I hereby solemnly swear I will not ogle my friends and/or teammates, even when they get their stupidly large dicks out on a public elevator.” He grins at Bruce and drops another handful of blueberries in his mouth.

“Tony,” Bruce admonishes again, sounding more tired with each repetition.

“Bruce,” Tony mimics, sounding  a lot less tired and a lot more sarcastic. “Seriously though, did you see the way those cuffs didn’t even budge when Cap struggled? Maybe I should talk to Pep about this. It could be a whole new direction for Stark Industries. The world’s first line of kinky bondage toys for enhanced individuals. Think of the possibilities.”

“I’d rather not, if that’s okay with you,” Bruce counters. Tony drops the gag and they sit in silence for a few minutes until Bruce adds, “We did a good thing, you know? For Steve and Bucky? It’s good to put a mark in the win column every now and then.”

Tony nods. It is good. Ever since finding Pepper, Tony has come to appreciate the importance of having someone in your corner that really gets you, that sees and understands all your flaws and faults, and loves you anyway. Helping Steve and Bucky get that back is definitely a win for the good guys. “There’s only so much super-moping this tower can take anyway,” Tony says, breaking the mood just like he meant to.

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Good night, Tony.”

Tony inclines his head with a grin. “Night, Bruce. Remember, you promised you’d help me finish the neural interface for the suit tomorrow.”

“How could I forget?” Then with a slight tilt to his head, “Get some sleep, Tony. I know Pepper is away, but you still have a bed you can sleep in, even when she’s not here.”

The thought of sleeping in their huge bed alone doesn’t appeal to Tony at all, but he nods anyway, let’s Bruce be appeased. He watches until Bruce is out of the lab, then turns back to the work bench. He takes another handful of blueberries and drops them into his mouth before sweeping his arm in an arc to pull the elevator footage back up. “Now where were we?”


End file.
